Time the Avenger
by Leesainthesky
Summary: A man finds success as a composer and architect. A woman loses all she ever loved. Can they bridge the gap between their very different worlds to build a life together? HOT EOW content. COMPLETED
1. Ch 1 Alph and Omega

**_Author's note: Welcome readers, lurkers and Phanatics one and all. _**

_**I am familiar with the works of Leroux's, Andrew Lloyd Webber/Joel Schumacher and Susan Kay and have borrowed bit and pieces from each artist and author. Because of the opposing contrast, my Erik looks like the Gerard Butler version. Expect mixing of various characters. The Phantom will eventually experience the joys of being a man. There is a strong M rating for future chapters. I welcome your useful criticism and opinions. **_

_**-Leesainthesky** _

_**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the phantom of the opera et-all. Gabrielle and her pals belong to me.** _

**Time, the Avenger: Ch 1 Alpha and Omega**

_New York City,_ _June 2005 _

The Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end; life happens between the two. Yet sometimes the end _is_ the beginning. That was my father's theory.

My father was a wonderful guy. He had twinkling bright blue eyes, dimples and a facetious laugh. Dad embraced music, nature, science and the endless mystery of life. He was know for his wicked skills on the chess board—a fact he relished holding over me ever time we played the game. My father also possessed amazing intelligence and a vivid imagination--a blessing and a curse if you happened to be his offspring. We were close, both hungering for purpose and love, seekers merely brushing our fingertips against answers.

Dr. Jonathan Thomassen, aka dad, was a physicist who worked closely with Kip Thorne of Cal Tech; one of the world's leading experts in the general theory of relativity. Both men subscribed to the idea of the fourth dimension--a possible hole in the fabric of reality used to explain strange disappearances in the Bermuda Triangle. What that means in layman's terms is that my Father believed in the _absolute possibility_ of time travel. He was head of research at the Time Travel Institute in Chicago, Illinois. Dad's colleagues understood that if Einstein's theory of special relativity entertained the possibility of traveling through time, then Dr. Thomassen's theories might also hold merit.

My mother thought he was a crackpot and often introduced him to strangers as "My husband the mad scientist." Dinner-table conversation in our home often centered on the speed of light, wormholes and invisible tears in the fabric of the universe. Being a dreamer myself, I considered dad's life's legitimate; after all, wasn't space travel a loose version of time travel?

Such theories was tough to prove. If people did take vacations in time, they must have decided to stay in their newfound epoch, because few ever returned to tell their story.

Throughout the centuries, reports of disappearances were substantial. In 610 A.D., thousands of Mayans vanished from their cities. The Caribbean's infamous Bermuda triangle routinely gobbled up planes and boats. Back in the year 1876, a Parisian fellow retired to his front porch for a mid-day smoke only to wind up on a New York City street instead.

_Could_ a Frenchman in 1876 France suddenly exchange places with a person in New York City's Times Square?

Yes. It _had_ happened to Rudolph Fentz and it happened to me.

June 16th was opening night for the Broadway production of Sweet_ Charity _starring Christina Applegate. The TV magazine show, _Chicago Tonight, _had dispatched me to cover the show for a weekend getaway segment.

My producer and occasional fiancé, Tony Lansdale and I arrived at the Al Hirschfeld Theatre mere moments before curtain time, which meant there was zero opportunity to drop off our luggage at the hotel. I begged the manager to let us stash our horde of bags and broadcast equipment in her office until after the performance.

After two and a half hours of mediocrity, both my bottom and my brain were numb. I urged Tony to hurry and beat the crowd out to the lobby so we could retrieve our belongings.

There I was, standing pretty in my strapless pomegranate red Todd Oldham dress, my feet perched atop Manolo Blahnik stilettos, schlepping around a large suitcase, a carry on bag, one weekender bag on wheels and my Kate Spade handbag. Not only were my arms growing weak from the strain of carrying so much bulk, I was freezing. For the life of me, I don't know why theatres keep their thermostats turned to the approximate setting of a meat locker.

Craving the warmth of a muggy New York City night, I navigated my way through the lobby crush. Once on the sidewalk, I twisted around to look for my fiancé. All I saw was the phallic shape of his gray boom-mic sticking up from the middle of the crowd.

_Geez, Tony, would you please move your skinny ass, _I mussed through gritted teeth.

My feet felt as if I'd been walking on hot coals and my arms were atrophying from the weight of our luggage.

_That man doesn't have a talent for crowd surfing like I do_, I tisked, stopping to wait for him and making sure that I had a firm grip on my belongings; this was, after all, New York City.

Scanning the chaos on West 45th Street, my gaze stopped on an odd sight (even for the city). Seven or eight feet in front of me, a middle-aged gentleman stood on the sidewalk. It wasn't so much the pipe he clutched onto, his waistcoat, caveat, tidy waxed mustache or mutton-chop side burns that made him appear peculiar, it was the look of utter terror in his dark eyes. I was staring into the eyes of a frightened animal.

Frantically looking around for something or someone, he was disoriented and dashed straight into the path of an oncoming taxicab. My mouth opened for a soundless scream that dissolved into a swirling vortex of darkness.

Wham. My knees and palms hit the cold hard ground. Had I also been hit by the cab or merely tripped on the sidewalk?

_Damn, there goes another pair of expensive panty hose,_ I cursed aloud.

That uncomfortable watering sensation one gets before losing the contents of one's stomach filled my mouth.

_No, please, no barfing in front of the Times Square crowd. Breathe, Gabrielle,_ I pleaded silently.

I quelled the urge to toss, and once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, scanned my surroundings. The floor was rocky and earthen, not a concrete sidewalk; it was dark, damp and smelled slightly of what—ash and mold? This sure as hell was not Times Square.

Directly to my right a pond lapped softly at the rocky shore. Several feet to my left, I saw something akin to a stage strew with candles and antiquated props.

_What in the frickin'-dickle am I doing here?_ I wondered audibly.

"An excellent question, Mademoiselle--what _are_ you doing here?" A resonant and cultured French accent demanded from within the gloaming.

- o -

_**Yes, it begins as a time travel, but the story focuses more on the twists and turns of the relationship between a 21st century woman and a 19th century man. Please give this a chance and please read & review, I truly want to know your thoughts. - Leesa** _

**Note:** _The reference to Rudolph Fentz is a true story, said to have happened in June 1876. He allegedly reappeared in Times Square 1950 so here I have altered the time line. In 2002 researcher Chris Arbuck he learned that the Fentz story was just that, a story._


	2. Ch 2 the Batcave

_**Thank you for your reviews. Keep them coming please. - Leesainthesky** _

**Chapter 2 _The Bat-cave. _**

**_Re-cap: Erik was rummaging around in the fifth cellar of the Paris Opera House when he discovered a strange woman — Gabrielle Thomassen, who has slipped through a portal in time… _**

"What in the hell are you doing here?" A masculine voice tinged in lilting French ordered.

My pulse accelerated at the sound. His anger boomed from somewhere in the shadows and this time I _did _hear myself scream. I must have resembled a B-grade horror movie actress with her too-wide-open eyes, nervously flitting back and forth searching for the fearsome being.

"Who's there?" I demanded, summing my nerve.

"I shall ask only one more time, what are you doing where you do not belong?"

_The voice_ echoed through the cavern; yet I still could not see the body attached to it (or so I hoped it had a live body!).

Keeping my tone as sure and even as possible, I replied in halting French. "I'm Gabriel Thomassen, and I am incredibly lost. I haven't a clue as to how I got here or where this is for that matter. I think I blacked out under the marquis in front of the theatre."

An attempt to stand-up landed me on my bum. "Yeow!" I cried. "Hey, unless you're a murder or a rapist would you mind helping me up? This floor is not very comfy."

"Of course, my dear." The disembodied voice spoke again, this time in English, laced with that appealing French inflection.

_I'd always been a sucker for European men_.

From the shadows, a hand gloved in fine black leather reached for me. My fingers barely made contact when the hand yanked me to my feet.

"Here, let's have some illumination," said the voice of the hand.

An old fashioned oil lamp sparked to life spilling forth small shards of amber light. I had my first glimpse at the man behind _the voice_.

He was dressed much like the terrified fellow from Times Square; in Victorian period garb, including a long black cape, but he was definitely _not_ the same fellow.

While the man in Times Square had been terrified, this man _was_ terrifying. He was tall with a strong, trim, build. Phosphorus jade eyes gleamed between dark lashes and from what I could see of his face, he was attractive. The man's oddest feature was the sculptured white mask covering his right side.

My personal survival skills told me to take a hasty inventory of the situation. Presently the man wasn't molesting me, so I determined to collect my wits and survey any bodily damage. My knees and hands bled from scrapes earned by what must have been an abrupt fall.

_Nothing life threatening_, _but what's up with the French guy in the period costume_? I wondered. Could someone have knocked me unconscious, robbed me and tossed my limp body in the storage area of a nearby theatre? Lord knows Broadway was thick with theatres of all sizes. _That's not it. Tony or somebody would have witnessed the incident—would have come to my rescue_, right?

I focused my eyes on the dark stranger.

"Oh, you must be an actor at one of the theatres here ...right?" I asked, searching for a reason to explain his curious attire.

"Well, I suppose it is a skill that I have employed form time to time; however, I do not practice acting as a profession." He answered with slight hubris.

"I just thought because of your costume and the mask—"

An ominous frown formed on his features.

"Well, you _could_ be. Only the most accomplished stage actors and singers have such marvelous voices."

Blatant flattery was not working on the man, but at least he didn't look pissed off at me anymore.

"I do pride myself on having some talent Mademoiselle, but enough of your flagrant flattery. We must discuss the matter of your unwelcome appearance on my property. Have you been accosted or are you simply hoping to steal something of value?"

"Yeah, I put on this evening dress and four inch heels then beat myself to appear inconspicuous if discovered by the likes of you," I snapped back.

The man's answer was a stoic and unreadable stare. Fear fluttered up my spine.

"Whoever you are, you cannot stay here. I don't know how in the devil you got in. All entrances are sealed with exception of the secret one from the street, and dressed as you are, it would be impossible to navigate that one successfully."

His appraising gaze made me self-conscious.

"Fine, I'd rather not be stuck in the bat cave anyway; it's cold and creepy in here."

"I assure you Madam, there are no flying rodents in my subterranean area," he sniffed.

_Humorless too I see. _

"Look, I'll be glad to vacate your little hideaway if you tell me where I am and how I can make a swift exit Mousier"

A menacing chuckle emerged from his lips, as if my idea of leaving was absurd.

He regarded me with restrained curiosity. "You Mademoiselle are in the fifth cellar of the Paris Opera house. There is only one accessible exit and it will be necessary for me to lead you there."

_He didn't just say the Paris Opera house did he?_ I wondered if cobwebs had collected in my ears. "Paris as in, the Opera Garnier, Monet and Bordeaux?" I said, affecting an air of mock buoyancy.

"Of course dense woman, what other Paris is there?"

I held up my hands, "Hey now, relax, you don't have to be insulting. I don't doubt your link to France, but I'm merely trying to figure out what the name of Napoleon B. is up with this situation. Unless someone drugged me and stowed my limp body aboard a fast plane to Europe, you are lying."

He scowled, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. "I am not inclined to lie without reasons beneficial to me, my dear."

_Gee, he seemed a tad annoyed. _

Frightened as I was, fear was not the foremost emotion creeping into my consciousness; uncertainty had claimed that spot. I'm not sure why the particular question came to mind, but it insisted on being voiced. "What year is it?"

"1876, June," he answered looking at me as if I were daft.

"1876? You wouldn't be messing with my mind would you, because if you are, it is no longer funny? I am tired and want only to peel of these clothes and crawl into a nice soft bed."

"M'excuser, messing with your mind Mademoiselle? I assure you, I have no intention to make a mess of you at all if you cooperate with me." The man in black countered with a fierce glare.

His gaze softened when he turned up the fire on his lamp. "Your hands and knees are bleeding and you appear to have a sizable bump emerging on your head."

I touched my right temple and promptly felt a stab of pain where a knot had formed.

_Fabulous, that'll look terrific on camera_. _No amount of make-up could hide_ _something the size of a small appendage. _

A peculiar, yet not altogether foreign feeling began to nag me. A familiar cognition rose to the surface.

"_No_, it can't be."

I recalled my father detailing his findings on how the strange disappearances in the Bermuda triangle could be explained through the tear-in-the-cosmic-fabric theory. Matter would slip through these unusual tears in the universe and move about time unbound.

_"Time-travel is already possible,"_ he would enthuse_. "It requires a total realization of quantum physics and space-time topology. Trial and error, risk taking and enormous patience are an essential part of the equation. I am so close to success that I can nearly see the future…or the past." _He would smile at his egg-head joke.

My brother Michael and I listened, fascinated by the possibilities of our fathers scientific investigations, but we were never sure it was something he could prove unequivocally—at least in his lifetime.

At the moment, the only thing making sense to me was the nonsensical. I felt like that Olympic ice skater who Tonya Hardin once whacked on the knee. _Why me? _

Confused and disoriented, I began to do something that I am loath to do; I began sobbing.

"Oh god, what is happening? Where am I and how do I get out of this nightmare and back to Tony?" I sniffled. I was five years old again and lost in the Carson Pirie Scott department store in downtown Chicago.

"This is _so _Twilight Zone. I'm gonna ring my father's neck if he has anything to do with this." I turned my back on the masked man and continued to blubber into my hands.

"Please, Mademoiselle, do not be distressed, there is a logical reason behind this mystery. I will assist you in finding your way out of here and then you shall be free to return to wherever you came from."

_I would later discover that women crying always had the power to distress Erik. It was the one emotion that would bleed forth compassion from his heart, he could easily kill a deserving man weeping for his life, but a helpless woman was a weakness for him. It was the tortured women crying for mercy that had finished off his soul in Persia_.

He moved closer and tentatively placed an arm around my shoulders. The man smelled of spice and cedar. I felt immense strength in his arm. He may have been slim, but I would bet under all of those grand garments there was a solid, sensual body—all in all, a nice hunk of European man flesh (wonderful Gab, he could be a deviate, but you've got gothic romance on your mind…sheesh!).

I gave an unladylike sniffle as he fished a linen handkerchief from his waistcoat and handed it to me. He guided me toward what I'd previously appraised to be stage props, but in reality was a functioning, yet dusty, parlor. There was a chaise longue, two ornate chairs; one looked like a throne, and a massive pipe organ.

"Please, make yourself comfortable." He motioned to the velvet chaise. "I think I can find something to clean your cuts with."

He disappeared around the organ, returning about five minutes later with some clean cloths and a glass bottle that looked like iodine.

"Put out your hands so I may dress the wounds for you Mademoiselle, or is it Madam?"

"I'm single so I guess its Mademoiselle, or you can just call me Gabrielle, but never Gabby."

"Mademoiselle Gabriel, I am Erik," he offered in a businesslike manor as he dabbed the stuff on my wounds. It stung and I winced every time he touched the scrapes.

"Perhaps you would like to attend to your knees," he glanced shyly at my legs, and then looked away while handing me the cloth and bottle.

_Maybe he's not a deviate after all, I thought_. Most men I know would take every chance they could to gawk at a woman's body, and seeing legs is an every day occurrence where I come from.

_Could this be the 19th century,_ I mussed un-comprehendingly to myself?

I cleaned my knees while working up the courage to tell him about the incredible journey I'd just traveled.

"Monsieur…Erik, what I am going to tell you will sound like strange fiction, but I assure you it isn't. My father, Jonathan Thomassen, is a physicist in the 21st century, 2005 to be precise."

"My father has been involved in time-travel research for the past 35 years of his life. Although he has yet to prove it to the scientific community at large, he presumes to have solved the puzzle. His belief is that time travel is a certainty. Michael, that's my younger brother, and I were never sure one-way or another, but I think I may have been caught in something called a time-tear. They're like invisible random trap door in the universe. People, ships, trains, animals, planes— anything gets sucked into them.

Pilots used to disappear in what's been named the Caribbean Ocean's Bermuda Triangle. These crafts would disappear without a trace. Some reappeared only to find that their watches had stopped or been moved forward or backwards in time. Oh, a plane is a flying machine, an American invention from your next century." I explained just in case it truly was 1876.

"Until a few hours ago, I was standing on a New York City sidewalk in the year 2005."

"Ah, so this miserable muddy orb still continues to spin hundreds of years from now," Erik brooded.

"I live in Chicago Illinois, USA and I am a reporter for a television show. TV, that's another questionable invention that I'll explain to you later; anyway, I am an arts and entertainment news reporter for the show. I interview celebrities, actor, singers and the like about their latest projects."

Erik nodded as if all I said held logic.

"I was reviewing a new Broadway production in New York City when a man dressed much like you appeared out of nowhere. The poor man was so distraught that he ran into the path of a taxi, which tossed him up into the air. He landed in the street with a dull thud followed by screeching tires. But before his unfortunate accident, our eyes locked briefly. It was then that I became dizzy, blacked out and ended up in this place," I motioned at the cave, or whatever it was. I am confident his appearance and my disappearance are somehow linked."

Erik sat mute and motionless, his chin resting on one hand. He seemed to be mulling over my incredible story.

"Mademoiselle, I have experienced many peculiarities and mysteries of this world. I too am one of nature's most abhorrent abnormalities. I would never rule out the possibility of trap doors in space and time. I myself am a master of such physical egress."

After a brief silence, he glanced toward the lake's edge where Tony's luggage and mine lay. "I see that you have quite a bit of baggage with you. Perhaps your bags hold items that may convince me you are indeed a visitor from the future."

"A Brilliant suggestion Monsieur!" I jumped up, hobbled over to fetch my carry on, hurried back to where the masked man sat impassively, and crouched at his feet. Fumbling in my pack, I withdrew a laser pointer.

"Check this out." I clicked on the scarlet beam and handed it to him. He moved it around as if it were a mini light saber.

"Interesting, yes, but what does it do Mademoiselle?"

"It's a laser, you point it at stuff and it …well, okay, not a great example. Let me find something else for you to examine." I fished around for my cell phone.

"Volià!" I wagged my little Motorola at him.

"I know you will soon have telephones, but nothing like this one will be available until the end of the twentieth century. By pressing a series of numbers, you can speak with anyone nearly anywhere in the world, providing they also have one of these mobile devices. I can't call anyone on this now because there are no satellites in the nineteenth century."

He appeared to be mildly interested, and moved nearer to scrutinize the hand-sized object.

I flipped the phone open. "Here, look Erik, there are numbers and you can compose music on this little keyboard, it has a calculator and in my time you can call almost anyone else in the world that has another one of these and talk to them! Ooooh let me take your picture," I aimed the eye at him and he scowled at me.

"Say cheese." I keyed in the entry and moved to his side.

"Check it out, here is a picture of you looking really ticked off at me," I eagerly turned the phone's screen toward him to see.

"Amusing, but there are already ways to capture images my dear; it could be a simple bit of trickery or clever magic. Given the time, I am sure I could discover its secrets. I am highly intelligent and hard to fool. I warn you Mademoiselle; do not to try my patience," Erik warned.

_Nothing arrogant about this guy_.

I sighed in frustration, fumbled around some more, and then pulled out my laptop plugging it into its battery pack. "Alrighty then, Mr. cynical; get a load of this."

He lit several candles and crouched next to me for a better view of my silicon marvel.

The lesson began.

"This is a portable computer, a sort of mechanical brain. It offers a variety of functions. You can compose anything from letters to music on it, draw or paint, listen to music, keep lists and access the internet if you have a phone line—that's another lesson for another time."

Erik folded his hands and eyed me inquisitively.

"Here is a snippet of yesterday's _Chicago Tonight_ show that I appear on. I am doing a piece on the singer Brittany Spears."

I opened the file and the player popped up. After a few seconds the media played. In the segment, I was interviewing Spears latest tour coming to Chicago. There was a clip of her signing her version of _My Prerogative_, complete with lots of writhing and whining.

I peeked at my masked man expecting to see pure astonishment on his face. Instead, a grimace formed as he studied the screen intently.

"You call _this_ music?" He bellowed at the screen. "What manor of putrid trash are you people permitting to pass for music in the future? For once I have a reason to thank the gods who breathed life into my pitiful lungs for allowing me birth in a time when music is an expression of true beauty, not that—that turgid drivel!"

I couldn't help but to laugh out loud. "I'm in total agreement with you. She's awful, but the kids love her. The good news is that in the twenty first century, there are many ways to express ones self musically. And the old masters still hold their own through live orchestral concert performances—their masterpieces have even been captured on something called recordings. Anytime you wish, you can hear a selection from any of the great composers … Mozart, Verdi, Beethoven and DuPuis."

Was it possible that the man's flesh could equal the paleness of the white mask he wore?

He snapped his head toward me, urgently grasped my arm and drew me up to his face. "DuPuis, the French composer of the nineteenth century?" He growled in a husky low voice.

"Uh—why yes, Erik DuPuis is a favorite composer of mine. His work is remarkable. Do you know of him?"

"I _am_ him," he hissed.

**- ( ) - **

**_Please read and review. I am not a true writer like many of you, but I enjoy my feeble attempts. I welcome all of your feedback. Thanks. - Leesainthesky _**


	3. Ch 3 Her Crystal Ball

_**Thanks to my reviewers. You give me courage and insight. If you read, please review for me. XXOO. - Leeesainthesky**_

**Ch. 3 - Gabrielle's crystal ball:**

**Re-cap: ****In the last chapter Erik discovered a strange woman in his old underground home. She claimed to be a time traveler. Not one to dispel the bizarre, he believed her. What he found hard to believe was her revelation that he will be quite popular in centuries to come…**

"I _am_ him."

My mouth dropped open and I gawked at Erik as if I was a kid and he was a Christmas pony.

"Erik DuPuis ...no freaking way!" I shook my head as if the motion would clear my confused mind. "Could I really have been shot through the 4th dimension, only to be deposited at the feet of one of the greatest contemporary composers of the19th century; the man behind _Le Femme de Norvège_, and _Requiem for a shattered soul_?"

"Incredible."

Erik stared at me suspiciously. "How could you know about _Le Femme de Norvège_? The opera is only in my head, waiting for transference onto parchment."

"Oh Monsieur, you have no idea; It's dark melodies and searing passion have made your opera a classic. In fact, there is a popular Rock Opera version accompanied with a multi platinum-selling soundtrack. Were you alive in 2005, your royalties would be in the millions."

He raised his visible eyebrow at me. "You lie."

"Now don't be rude, I'd have to be a genie or clairvoyant to make up stuff like that Monsieur. You know, I think I actually have a copy of the original score stored on my IPOD. Here, hold this." I handed him the notebook while I searched my luggage for the player.

"Ta da! I've got it, I've got it," I sung gleefully like a schoolgirl. He eyed the gadget as if it were a live scorpion.

"Erik, here let me put these on your ears, they're headphones so you can listen to your music in private." I stuck them on in spite of his weak protests and played the selection from his opera.

Time froze as I watched the intimidating man's face melt with a soft, quizzical expression. He closed his eyes and listened for a good 10 minutes before pulling the headphones down from his ears. We looked at each other in reverent silence.

Finally, I spoke. "Amazing isn't it Erik?"

His elbows were propped on the arms of the massive throne chair with his hands in the church-and-steeple position; he rested his index fingers against his lips.

"A life like rendering indeed, however the aria requires a more subtle treatment—too much instrumentation clutters up the singer's tender passion." He critiqued.

Erik remained silent for several more minutes; his mind appeared to be far away. Eventually here-surfaced. "An amazing marvel indeed, but then much of my life has been truly bizarre."

"A lot happened in the 20th century Monsieur, it has been called the century of the industrial revolution. More innovations were made in that century than any other in history. The horseless carriage, flying machines, personal electricity for lights and household items, buildings that reach over 100 stories into the sky, men on the moon, and so much more that it would take quite a while to explain all of it," I enthused.

_Erik's quick and debauched mind ticked away at an idea. He was a brilliant inventor, if this girl indeed had knowledge of the future, she could be of use to him._

He cocked his head and smiled warmly, "It would be a considerable pleasure to hear about the amazing inventions of your time. Perhaps you'll enlightenment sometime, Mlle."

"Sure thing, I would like to whenever you have the time, of course there are some things that I could never divulge. Knowing all that I know could risk an inadvertent altering of the universe. The scientific communities that my father associates his work with believe such actions would be unethical. I tend to agree. One seemingly well intentioned warning could lead to a string of cataclysmic events," I explained.

Erik eyed me quizzical as he stood from the throne, "Being from the future, as you claim to be, please explain the reason why you are dressed so…scantily. Prostitutes on the streets of Paris have on more than you do child. You're indecent, no wonder you shiver so."

"Bite me!" I shot back, insulted by the masked man's appraisal of my haute couture.

Again, his unnerving smirk appeared.

"A strange request Mademoiselle—I mean no harm. Our ladies wear significantly more than what you are wearing Gabrielle, not that I find your manner of dress unappealing."

He offered me his hand, "Besides dear, you are shivering. Come, I believe I can find a cloak for you to cover up with. We will have to venture into the streets of Paris eventually and I do not think it wise for you to draw unwanted attention."

He was correct in assessing my physical reaction to the cold underground air. I had been wearing goose bumps for sometime now and was nearly numb. I grabbed his hand and balanced on unsteady feet.

He led me to a small bedroom area where a mahogany armoire stood. Inside there appeared to be many lavish Victorian dresses. He dug through the garments, finally pulling out a midnight blue silk cloak

"This will do, it is not too heavy for the summer evening. I'll need to venture up into the Opera house for additional garments. Unfortunately the woman who once wore these clothes was a bit smaller than you and not quite as, if you'll pardon me, as endowed."

I could have sworn I saw him ogle my frame, just for an instant. Should I be insulted or flattered?

There is still costume storage upstairs. You should fit into some of La Carlotta's old things. Now I shall be a few moments as it takes a while to ascend into the upper floors since a previous fire weakened the structure. Make yourself comfortable in the house while you wait—do not wander."

I sat on the antique bed and nodded mutely as if surrendering my affairs to him.

Erik swiftly disappeared into the gloom. I had no desire to lose myself in this vast darkness, but I began to fidget with boredom. What could the man have been doing here in the first place? This appears to be a sort of underground abode. Had he actually lived here? Maybe the composer is eccentric and wealthy—this creepy place could have been his love nest for trysts with singers or dancers. I rose from the bed and began to explore the area. There were steps that led to a dilapidated old pipe organ.

Musical scores were strewn about along with candlesticks, busts and other curious knick-knacks. Picking up one of the parchments, I discovered E. DuPuis signed at the top of each page. These must be Erik's original compositions.

_Good lord, these would be worth thousands of dollar, if not more, back in my day._ I stared at the extraordinary living piece of history in my hands._ Real, this is real, this is here and this is now…or more accurately then._

My breathing had become shallow as I grappled with the enormity of this situation. A wee voice in my head urged me to fold the thing up and slip it into my handbag.

_No Gab don't, that would be stealing. Stealing what—stealing something obviously discarded in a century that was not my own?_ I stashed the parchment in my purse.

Erik's returning footsteps triggered a spike of adrenaline to run through me. "You do not obey orders very well do you Mlle," he scolded tersely in his perfect voice.

"Oh, I…needed to stretch a bit. As you see I didn't go far Monsieur," I responded, hoping I did not look guilty of any petty thievery.

"No matter, I have retrieved some frocks for you my dear, I'll pack them away for you then can depart. Tonight you will return with me to my manor. Tomorrow we can discuss other arrangements, if it pleases you Mlle."

"You're the boss applesauce," I threw up my hands while he cast me a strange glance.

I wondered silently where his manor was, and once there, did he intend to do me harm? I was in a foreign century in a foreign country with no means of looking after myself. I was at his mercy.

_My luck, he's probably a psycho-killer,_ I mussed silently.

Erik helped me into the cloak. "Most of your containers will pass on the streets of Paris, but we will have to transfer whatever you have in the one with the wheels into one of my satchels."

"What, the wheel hasn't been invented yet in France"?

"Too modern, he replied ignoring my sarcasm."

We stuffed everything from my small suitcase into a large brown leather satchel, securing it with straps. Erik handed it to me while he picked up the large suitcase belonging to my sometime fiancé, Tony. Holding his lamp out in front of him, he instructed me to say close and to not stray lest I become lost and injure myself in the tunnels of the labyrinth. I stayed so close to the tall man, I could feel the soft fabric of his cloak's hood against my let cheek. I made damn sure not to lose contact with the clothing.

Through the endless maze of halls and stairs we went. The light was barely bright enough to see and I wondered how Erik could navigate through the pitch-blackness. Finally emerging at a street entrance with a massive iron gate, I smelled the aroma of fresh baked goods and coffee. My ears were met with the click of horse's hooves, rolling wheels and voices of people speaking French. Erik hesitated before unlocking the gate that led into a cobblestone street.

"Stay close to me, avoid eye contact, and speak to no one." He instructed. "My carriage is at the livery only two streets away. From there we will head out of Paris. My manor is past the edge of the city where it becomes country. You will be safe there until we can figure out a more suitable plan for you."

"I take it you don't have a wife waiting for you at home who wouldn't take to kindly to you dragging stray women home with you"? I observed.

He swung around and scowled at me, "Hardly Mlle. I have two servants who live on the property, an older couple who are related to an old and dear friend of mine. Henri and Marie will do as I say—they will ask nothing."

His expression relaxed somewhat, "You also needn't worry about my intentions toward you. I only wish to help you. Besides, I am curious to learn more of the future."

The great gate creaked open and we stepped into the Paris evening.

The bustling street scene astounded me. There were peddlers selling wares, couples walking arm in arm, carriages dashing through the narrow lane and laughter ringing out from nearby café's. I was in the romantic city of light 1876 and I was mesmerized by what I saw. Occasionally I would spy a beggar or prostitute working their trade.

Fear and curiosity battled for control over me. Obeying my handler's advice, I made eye contact with no one and clung anxiously to his side. Turning left onto a smaller street, I could see the livery up ahead. There were stalls and many carriages 'parked' in front of a dark wooden building.

As we approached the building a large hairy man in a dirty apron greeted Erik, "Will you be needing your rig now M. DuPuis? I'll have Andre ready it for you; won't be but a moment." He hollered instructions at someone in the back of the barn who I assumed to be Andre.

"Don't move," Erik instructed me strictly as he approached the man in the apron. I could not hear their conversation but I observed Erik reaching into his waistcoat pocket to withdraw currency, which he then passed on to the man.

A black brougham carriage soon appeared from the tunnel leading to what I assumed was the back of the stable. There were two large bay horses yoked into the harness.

Erik placed my baggage into the back compartment, then opened the door and helped me into the dark interior.

"Our trip should only take about and hour, rest if you are able Mlle." He closed the door.

I then felt the carriage shift slightly to the left, creaking under the man's weight. I assumed he had climbed aboard the driver's seat.

Twilight had descended upon Paris and I was barley able to discern much from the carriage's small window. There were gas lamps lighting the boulevards and many people milling about. The cobblestone streets caused for a bumpy ride, but I was so tired from my previous trans-century travels that I nodded off within ten minutes.

Something pulled me out of my stupor because I awoke with a start. The carriage had slowed considerably. I noticed shadowy shapes in the dark that could have been trees and shrubs. A half moon cast a muted glow over apparent fields. Obviously we had left the city for the country some while back. Hadn't Erik said he lived just outside the city? I presumed that we must be near his home.

The carriage made a slow right turn and I noticed that we were descending a long narrow driveway of sorts lined with trees. I heard Erik softly click at the horses and felt the rig bounce to a stop. We must be here I thought to myself. Apprehension filled my gut. How will this turn out? Wouldn't it be the best tragic comedy if I had just traveled 130 some years into the past only to be abducted, raped and murdered by a helpful stranger? I mussed.

_Good god Gabriel, you've read too many horror novels I scolded myself._

Erik's weight left the front of the carriage and I soon heard the voice of an older man.

"Good evening M. DuPuis, how did the city treat you"?

"Nothing out of the ordinary M. Roux, however I did pick up a passenger. A friend of my partner's, you know M. Mangeot my architectural helper in England? His niece needs a place to stay while she is here."

_Ah ha! So that's the story morning glory_, I smiled to myself. _Should be interesting how this saga unfolds._

I tugged on the door handle but couldn't figure out how to open the darn thing; I felt a reciprocal tug and the carriage door opened abruptly. Erik was standing on the other side.

"How was your ride Mademoiselle?" He inquired while offering me a gloved hand. I hopped down, catching the cloak on something inside.

"Bumpy. Hey, I uh— I think the cloak is caught on something."

Erik peered around me to find the offending item. He yanked at the skirt's hem, freeing the voluminous garment.

"I'll have to have M. Roux look at that. There appears to be a rough piece of metal there on the doorframe," he said while he ran his hand over a small protrusion on the side of the door.

I fell forward and landed on Erik. He had no time to react so I ended up pressed into him, breast first.

"Opps, so sorry," I mumbled rather embarrassed to be in such close proximity to him.

The man stiffened, grasped my arms and righted me.

"No matter, we must go in and get you settled. Tomorrow you will meet with Mdm. Roux, my housekeeper," he spoke abruptly.

The back entrance of the main house was illuminated by two gaslights. I could barely make out the three-story structure. The home was large stone structure, covered intermittently with ivy. It was hard to imagine only one person and two servants living in such a vast dwelling. I guess that wasn't that unusual for the 1800's.

Erik led me through a mudroom and an enormous back kitchen area; from there we emerged into the main foyer where he then led me up a staircase. The home was dark and the only light I had was that of the lamp Erik held.

He stopped in front of a door in the middle of the upper hall, "This is your guest room Mlle." He turned up the lamp wick as we entered and I could see that the room held several period pieces and an exquisite full sized canopy bed. The décor was tastefully done in tones of white, lilac and amethyst.

Erik placed my belongings by a large mahogany bureau, and then walked to a window next to the bed. He drew aside the draperies and opened the window, permitting a gentle summer breeze to waft through the room.

"Mdm. Roux keeps things in check around here so the linins should be fresh. The water closet is down the hall to your right; my bedroom is on the left…should you be in need of anything," he added.

"It's been a long and most unusual day; you should rest Mademoiselle. Gabriel. Sleep as long as you need. I'll will be on the property all of tomorrow so we can discuss your arrangements when you rise."

I nodded, "Good night Erik and thank you, really."

"Good night." He gave a slight bow and backed out of the room.

Listening for his footsteps to fade down the hall, I gingerly turned the skeleton key in its lock. Living in a late 1800's brownstone in Lincoln Park, I was aware of how unreliable these keys were, but I needed to believe that it was some thread of protection against the unknown.

Standing in the middle of my luggage, I felt small and lost. Still not fully comprehending my circumstances, I wasn't willing to accept what I knew was truth; that I was in another dimension of time. Somehow this thing called time travel, the very object of my father's life work, had chosen me, his only daughter, as proof of his vision. The most heartbreaking part was that I had no way to tell him that he was right, no way to communicate; no way to return home.

My eyes watered at the thought of never seeing my family again; of living in a time when little was as I had know it, a time when women were treated as powerless belongings.

I could not allow myself to give in to a weakness beget from sorrow. The Thomassen's were of Scandinavian stock and we were strong and enduring. I was steely against negative odds—always had been. I would not, could not allow this thing to own me— to break me.

_I will survive_, I sung softly to the walls.

Tomorrow would be a day for thinking; tonight was for sleeping and I was wiped out. Off came the uncomfortable clothing.

I rummaged through my bags for an oversized t-shirt, pulling out one that I had given to Tony, but he had seldom worn. _Protect Your Nuts_ was printed on the front with the picture of a squirrel below them.

I slipped it over my head and moved to the bed. I hated to disturb the lavish display of pillows with their fine lace and silk shams; but one _must_ sleep. I turned back the coverlet and dove into the cool Egyptian cotton sheets. Pure bliss, I was asleep instantly.

_**Please R&R. Thanks! - Leesa**_


	4. Ch 4 Domestic Goddess

**Dear readers: Sorry for the prior strangeness with the paragraphs; some weird word processing gremlin. It's all fixed. (A - O, let's go!) **

_Erik had brought Gabrielle back to his manor house in the French countryside for the night. _

**Ch. 4—Domestic Goddess **

Morning greeted me with a sliver of bright sunlight through an opening in one of the heavy draperies. Momentarily disoriented, I thought I must be in Manhattan a hotel room, and then lucidity returned.

Nope, looks like my unscheduled stopover in 1876 may last a wee bit longer.

The familiar morning pressure rose in my lower abdomen. I have got to use the water closet; how quaint. I hope they have hot water here, I thought.

Peeking around the door, I saw no one in the hall and tiptoed toward the facility reaching it successfully without discovery. Upon my return, I heard voices and scurried back to my little haven. Bouncing back on the bed, I contemplated what I would wear. Maybe Erik could handle my curious mode of dress, but I doubted that his servants would take to it very well.

I scanned the pile of dresses from the Opera house and decided on a soft dove gray frock.--the least ostentatious of the bunch. The garment fit fairly well, if not a bit too long. Were all the ladies flaunting their bosoms as these dresses décolletage would suggest or had M. DuPuis simply chosen the most reveling outfits? Just like a man, doesn't matter what century he's from.

I took the uninterrupted time to unpack. Believing we would spend extra time enjoying New York, Tony and I had brought enough clothing for five days, There was an assortment of shoes, both sensible and extravagant; numerous outfits for the evening hours, plus an assortment of shorts, tops and jeans for summer sightseeing in the city.

Wrapped in tissue at the bottom of my suitcase lay a carefully chosen selection of "special occasion" lingerie from Victoria's Secret. I had hoped to salvage what little was left of my relationship with my unreliable fiancé.

Make-up and other sundry items were set on the vanity. I considered that I could be spirited back to the 21st century as quickly as I had entered this one making my current activities irreverent. But then what difference did it make? I could replace all this stuff when I returned.

I turned to Tony's carry-on bag.

The man suffered from a mild form of hypochondria and had packed enough prescriptions and over the counter meds to fill a "mom and pop" pharmacy. I saw none of the usual holiday gear in his bag—no novels or MP3 player. What I did discover shook me. Digging into the bags inside pocket, I drew out a new box of condoms, something that we had never used. It looked like two separate rendezvous had anticipated.

A rap on my door broke through my daze.

"Gabrielle, may I come in?" Erik's opulent voice wafted through from the other side of the door.

"I have navigated the torture devices that you so generously provided for me, it is now safe to enter Monsieur that is unless the hooks on this dreadful corset pop off."

Erik stepped carefully into the room. He looked puzzled. "Torture devices, Mademoiselle? There are no such devices in these rooms?"

Laughing, I said, "I'm kidding Erik; we don't wear corsets where I come from. They're most uncomfortable and confining. I feel certain that if I breathe, the hooks will break and the velocity would cause them to fly with such a force it could put out an eye."

He exhaled a sigh of relief and laughed with understanding. "I do not think they are necessary around the house, unless of course you chose to wear them."

The last part he said while eyeing my bosom, which was pushed out and propped up for display like a holiday turkey. Abruptly he caught himself and regained his composure.

"May I?" he motioned at a chair. Last night, I gave substantial thought to your plight. It is my observation that you will not do well on your own until you have been taught the customs of our day—not to mention a sound polishing of your mediocre attempt at the French language. Since there appears to be no way to assess how long you will be staying within the confines of our time period, I have devised a satisfactory solution."

I perched on the edge of the bed and affected a stoic pose while he continued.

"Until you revert back to your century, you are free to say here at my manor. Keeping a single young woman is not an acceptable practice for a bachelor ...not that I give a whit about the opinions of the world, but I will do what I can to protect your honor; therefore, you will become the widowed Niece-in-law of my partner, Eugene Fitzgerald. Eugene lives in London where I often travel for my work; you see I am not only a musician but also an architect.

Eugene's Nephew Morris lived in America, New York City I think. He died only last year of consumption. Although he was not married, no one in these parts is aware of that. You are his widow, left destitute by your dead husband and I am a dear friend of the family assisting in a most unfortunate matter. You will help with the domestic work here and I will provide room, board and an allowance for your work. Oh, yes, because you are a widow Gabrielle, you are no longer a Mademoiselle. When in mixed company, I will address you as _Madam_—what is your last name, dear?"

"Thomassen," I replied feeling rather stunned by this whole charade.

"Thomassen will do then. Now we shall go to meet Madame Roux. She is the person you will obtain your instruction from. Do you have any questions for me Gabrielle?"

_More than you could answer dude_, I thought. "No, not at the moment Monsieur."

"Very well, let's go downstairs to meet Marie."

**_Later the same day_ **

There was never a more austere creature than Marie Roux when it came to work, which I took to be the humorless matrons' only joy. She bristled at Erik's suggestion that she take me on as a helper. "Are you insinuating Monsieur that I cannot handle the care of your estate?"

"Dear Marie," Erik patronized the woman, "You know how big this house is, I was only thinking of your welfare. Besides, wouldn't you like more freedom to visit your sons and daughter?"

"Pfffssst," she harrumphed." But then it would be nice to see my son and his wife's little boy. I have not been able to get to know my grandson as much as I would like to. As you know, Warren will be returning to University this fall. Spending time with him before he returns would please Henri and me very much."

"Then there you go. It is settled. Madam Thomassen will assist you in whatever daily chores you deem right. Be kind Marie, the girl has been through enough without your biting tongue lashing her," Erik implored her.

Marie scowled at her employer indignantly. "I only expect people to do their job Monsieur."

"Of course Marie, in that manner you are so much like your dear sister Antoinette."

Now finished with their conversation, Erik headed toward the music room with an amused twitch on his lips, chuckling about how he'd best remember to write Eugene about his widowed niece-in-law.

-o-

And so I met Erik's household staff, which consisted exclusively of Marie and Henri Roux.

My assumption that the Roux's would be a nice old French couple proved to be half right;

Monsieur Roux was a jolly fellow with a hearty laugh. His wit and wisdom combined with a deep affection for animals made him an amiable companion. Marie Roux was a spindly bit of a woman with tiny steel blue eyes. Harsh and humorless, she expected nothing less than perfection from those around her. Marie disapproved of me immediately. To Madam Roux, having a young widow living under the same roof as a bachelor was a most improper situation. It mattered little that Erik was helping out a dear friend's unfortunate relative get back on her feet.

Under the impression that I was the niece-in-law of Erik's wealthy business partner, she believed me to be a spoiled brat; therefore, I was too inept to be trusted with serious housework.

I should have thanked my lucky stars all that was required of me was some light dusting and sweeping. After a month without incident, she must have decided that I could handle the tough stuff—changing the linens.

Egyptian cotton is luxurious, but must be ironed, with a hand iron, and there are no fitted sheets to be found in 1876. Changing the sheets on Erik's gigantic bed was a daunting task. In order to insure a proper fit, one had to fold the ends in hospital corners.

One afternoon as I was struggling with Monsieur Dupuis' bed linens, Marie walked into the bedroom.

"Child," she shrieked, whatever are you doing to the Master's bed? That is not the proper way to dress a bed." She roughly yanked the bottom sheet from my hands. "Pay attention," she barked while schooling me on how to make flawless hospital corners.

_For this I went to college_, I silently fumed? "Beds the size of a football field aren't my speciality. Please allow me a do-over, Madam. Roux," I pled.

She grudgingly acquiesced. Mimicking her motions, I painstakingly tucked the side and ends under and over. I wasn't even finished with the last tuck when I a bony hand smacked me on my right shoulder.

"No, no, no you useless child! Can you not do anything right?" The woman shrieked again.

I stumbled back from the bed slightly dazed. For a moment, I thought the ghost of my evil maternal grandmother, Marion Bousard, had inhabited the body of this vile woman.

"Hey, are you demented? You don't go hitting grown woman for making beds incorrectly!" I yowled.

"If you would conduct yourself in an acceptable manner then perhaps I would not be inclined to treat you as an incompetent little princess. You are hopelessly inept Madam!"

My former years as a news reporter had schooled me to control extreme emotion. At the moment, class was in session, because I was a hair's breath from taking this old hag to the schoolyard for a lesson. Gabrielle, you are better than this, you are not accustomed to these people and their ways, just chill, I told myself.

"You realize dear that I shall have to inform Monsieur Dupuis of your indecorous behavior. I am certain he will not be pleased."

I turned and walked to the window. Blowing out a great stream of air and throwing up my hands I mumbled, "whatever you old bag."

"How dare you!"

Oops ...she actually heard me. A frosty silence settled over the room turned. I turned to look at Marie. Her hands were bunched into tight fists and her face was ashen and stern--way past the anger stage. For the first time I experienced real fear under this woman's gaze.

"Leave this instant so I can finish taking care of Monsieur's room properly!" She ordered.

I was gone before you could say _bad dog_. Feeling guilty for being rude to the old woman, (not to mention a bit fearful) I begged off supper and stayed in my room. I feigned illness, female trouble. That always frightens men enough that they seldom question you about the particulars.

Later that evening, I snuck into the kitchen and scrounged up some cheese and an apple and smuggled it up to my room.

I could hear Erik somewhere in the house playing his music. I did not wish to run into him anytime sooner than necessary. No doubt Madam. Roux had tripped over herself in her haste to report my insubordinate to him and confronation was the last thing I wanted tonight.

Lounging on a lovely bed of goose down, surrounded by soft lamplight and antiques while leisurely reading a great novel was sublime. Reading Steinbeck in my favorite nutty squirrel T-shirt, I was the out of place element in the lovely Victorian room.

Aron was about to discover that his mother was not only alive, but the town whore, when the sharp knock on my door startled me from my story. There were only four other people in this house and three of them were in the servant's cottage. Perhaps it was time for my spanking.

Gracefully, the tall dark man moved across the room, toward the chaise where I sat contemplating how I would enter into my day at the manor.

"You've been a very naughty young woman Gabrielle. Madam Roux is quite upset with your behavior." He cocked his head toward me quizzically. "What do you suppose would be a fitting punishment for your insolence?"

His smooth voice held a note of mock foreboding. I bowed my head submissively.

"Forgive me master, I am in need of firm discipline for my offense. You could send me to my room—oh, but I'm already here. Hum, how about some sort of medieval torture?"

Was that a tiny smile curling on his lips?

"Perhaps a spanking Madam? Is that how insolent servants are corrected in your century; sounds most interesting."

I laughed out loud, "In my century spanking would land you in jail for criminal abuse, unless it was consensual of course."

Fiery eyes bore into me generating a feeling of nakedness. I became serious. "Look Erik, It was not my intent to insult Madam. Roux. I was doing my best to follow her instructions, but a domestic goddess I am not. The woman is mean. I try to get along with her but she acts as if I am an imbecile."

He shook his head, Marie is not known for her tact, but she feels threatened with you here. I can only imagine it comes from the insecurity of age—a fear that she will be replaced, which of course I would never do. She is the sister of a friend for whom I owe my life. Give her time Gabrielle."

"Erik, please forgive me for disrupting your orderly house hold. I will apologize to Madam. Roux first thing today—promise.

He shook his head dismissively, "Think nothing of it. I simply reminded her that you had recently become a widow and have no one to look after you. She should be patient—perhaps treat you as she would a daughter. This is my home and she is to be civil to my guests regardless of their station."

I was grateful for his benevolence.

"Thank you Monsieur," I blushed. Lifting my head in a show of faux pride, I assured him that proper Victorian housecleaning was probably not something I would excel in, "A domestic goddess I am not, however, I can cook up a mean coq au vin or crème brulee."

Erik appeared to pass over my comment, but his posture relaxed as he gestured toward a chair. "May I?"

I nodded in consent and he took the chair opposite the chaise. He leaned back while lacing his long fingers together, allowing them to rest in his lap. Such fine fingers, artist's fingers, I thought admiring their grace.

"Gabrielle, how have you been faring? Are you comfortable here?"

I shrugged, "I suppose so. You have provided me with whatever I need, a lovely room, meals and good books to read. There is not much more I would ask you for M. DuPuis."

"I would guess that a woman such as you would be used to considerable conversation and companionship. Life at the manor can be exceedingly dull. You may have noticed that I am rather reclusive."

"You're an artist ...I can only assume that you are ensconced in the creative process."

"An astute observation Mademoiselle Thomassen. My mind is endlessly occupied with inspired ideas. Music and art are my oxygen. Without it I would drown in the insipidness of my existence."

Immeasurable sorrow radiated from Erik. I did not know much about the man's life other than what he had told me about his dual professions and from what few historical references I'd read, but I had a notion there was a enormous scar tissue insulating his heart.

"Information is what I crave; a newspaper or any sort of recent periodical would be appreciated. I am so lost and out of my element here, if I could read something of substance, perhaps I could begin to get my bearings in this world."

"Monsieur Roux brings a copy of _Le Figaro_ back from town when he goes for my mail. I will make sure it gets to your hands, Gabrielle. But, surely you desire more Mademoiselle? As a woman from a highly evolved century you must be used to more intellectual stimulation than what you have been exposed to here. I know well what damage an idle mind can do to a person's psyche. If there is an activity you wish to engage in, any particular food, libation, toiletries, anything I can acquire for you, do not hesitate to tell me."

I was genuinely touched by Erik's show of consideration for me. During my stay at the manor, Monsieur DuPuis had been a man of little emotion and even fewer words.

My eyes lit up as I recalled seeing the stables. "Monsieur, I noticed your stable of excellent horses, I used to ride back home. Do you think I could go for a ride sometime? I love to ride. Why, when I was growing up in Central IL, I was the only girl who could beat the boys while racing on bareback. I even had my own horse until we moved to Chicago. My father used to remind me, _Gabriel love, it's not easy keeping a pony happy in a townhome._"

"So you take pleasure in equestrian pursuits? A simple provision Mademoiselle. Providing the weather remains agreeable, we can ride tomorrow if you like."

"Yes!" I bounced up in my chair and clapped my hands together. This garnered me another one of those curious eyebrow rising looks from Erik. I keep forgetting gentlewomen of his day were demure and restrained. I settled back in my chair. "Oh thank you Monsieur, your kindness toward me is extraordinary and unexpected."

He dismissed my words with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense Gabrielle, I relish the intelligent and intriguing conversation your company affords me."

He shot an unexpected smile my way and dipped his head. "Might you grant me the pleasure of your company at supper tonight? There is no real reason for you to dine in the kitchen; even the Roux's have an open invitation to do although they seldom partake. I suspect it is a privilege that they are not accustomed to. Your company would serve to enhance my dining pleasure."

"Are you sure you want _my _company? I can only imagine how my decorum seems crude to one as cultured as you, Erik. I don't want to offend you ...or Madam. Roux."

This amused my host even further. "If you become too unruly, I'll have to set you out to dine with the horses in the barn."

"I might like that you know, I am often more fond of horses than humans." I teased.

"I find no fault with that argument. I shall join you in two hours for supper my dear." He rose from the chair and headed off to the music room.

Supper was pleasant if not somewhat stilted. Erik and I were not yet used to one another and the nasty looks from Madam. Roux did nothing to quite my butterflies. At one point, Erik considered her and remarked that her bunions must be bothering her again. I nearly snorted by vichyssoise out of my nose at his snarky comment.

I mentioned how much I enjoyed cooking and French cuisine. Along with music, animals, and the arts, gourmet cooking was a passion of mine. He suggested that perhaps I would be happier preparing meals rather than fighting with linens. From that night on, I never dusted another artifact. Cooking for the household was simple since there were only four of us. The oven was gas and the cooking implements were not modern, but they were adequate. Marie actually appeared to be content that she was free from kitchen drudgery.

_Erik Gabrielle encounters are on the way, hang in there you lovers. And thank all of you for your support. You rock! _

_Leesainthesky_


	5. Ch 5 Unanswered questions

**_Hi there, I fixed the problem in Ch. 4. Go back and re-read it if you like. Otherwise, Erik and Gabrielle are slowly getting to know one another. They are both dreadfully curious and private people (a bad combination indeed!). Thanks to you readers and reviewers, especially Annabanana, Pertie, gigi, and Kay._ **

**Ch. 5 - Unanswered questions **

The days at M. DuPuis' manor blended one into the other. I endured by pretending to be a character in a Victorian drama. I was the tragic heroine in my own story, patiently waiting to be rescued from my plight by what, I wasn't certain; that part I often did not dwell on. Being an outcast from this past civilization, and living in the French countryside, there was little that I could entertain myself with. Most of my spare time was spent walking in the woods behind the manor, hanging around the barn pestering Henri, feeding the barn cats, and tending to an herb garden that I had planted. Indoors I had Erik's music to sooth my soul. I would sit in the window seat of the small sunroom next to his music room and listen to him play intricate scores or soft lilting lullabies. Sometimes he would sing. One time I think I heard him working on La Femme Norvège. When his voice and his playing fused, it was as sweet as the finest kiss. I was a living witness to the genius of Mousier Erik DuPuis, the 19th century French composer, architect and artist; truly a mind-boggling realization.

Erik had taken me horseback ridding on occasion. The thrill of ridding such fine mounts in the unaltered French countryside was a sublime experience, one of the few that I would not be able to experience in 2005. There were no airplanes, power lines or nearby expressways to pierce the serenity of the lush natural environment. Always a curiosity to Erik, he was amused at my habit of insisting on ridding in my jeans. I refused to ride sidesaddle, finding the practice not only degrading, but also an impossible way to enjoy an equestrian experience.

"Well my dear, I must agree it is a much more practical way to ride a mount than the absurd convention that our society thrusts upon females. Perhaps you will start a new trend Gabriel."

"I doubt it, I think this society likes their women chained, bound and gagged."

Erik threw back his head and laughter richly at my sardonic observation.

I learned that ridiculing proper Parisian culture was one of the few things Erik found amusing.

- o -

The morning I saw the missing persons reward in The Figaro, Erik had been in his music room running some intricate scales; the usual preparation when he added a score and wished to listen to the music for fluidity.

My heart was beating wildly as I sprinted down the polished hallway, skidding to a stop at the music room door, nearly crashing into the heavy wooden doorframe.

"Erik, you've got to see this!" I must have looked like an untamed madwoman, wearing only my gown and robe, my hair falling in my face, shaking the newspaper at him frantically. Erik stopped playing and jerked his head toward me abruptly. He appeared thoroughly irritated. I crossed the threshold without waiting for an invitation.

"Gabriel, what in the hell are you doing woman? You know I loathe being interrupted when I am working."

"I know, Erik, I apologize, but you must read this—it's about a missing Parisian, M. Fentz. I saw him the night I disappeared from New York. I swear it Erik; it's him, I just know it is!"

Fearlessly I advanced toward the annoyed man at the piano, thrusting the newspaper into his hands I commanded him. "Look, read."

What else could he do? Erik grabbed the paper and began to read.

"…_According to his wife Madame Louise Fentz, Monsieur Fentz left their home to take a smoke on the porch. When he did not return within a reasonable amount of time, Madame Fentz went for him, but he was no longer there. A neighbor, Monsieur Lamont and his wife who were taking a walk, said they had seen Fentz standing on his porch, attempting to light his pipe. M. Lamont had turned to speak to his wife, when he turned back to face the Fentz house again, M. Fentz had simply vanished into, as they say, thin air."_

A grainy picture of M. Fentz was included with a plea for any information whatsoever for information on his whereabouts Erik continued to study the article with concentrated interest. I knelt down next to the piano bench and peered up at him.

"What do you think? Should I contact his man's wife? I know he's the man I saw when I walked out of the Hirschfeld Theatre in Times Square June 7th, the same date I arrived in your cave him," I pointed at the picture.

Erik scowled, "It's not a cave, and anyway what can you do with this knowledge Gabrielle? You realize the futility of barging into Madam. Fentz's life with such unsettling news don't you dear? The woman may well not believe and think that you wish to extort money from her. She could and call the gendarmes to arrest you for harassing her."

"My aim is not to upset her to make gains from her plight. I simply think she should know what happened to her husband. From what I've read here, she and her family are sick with worry for Monsieur Fentz. I would want to know if I were in her stockings."

"Although your compassion is admirable, it is also foolish. I will not permit you to bother Mdm. Fentz. That is the end of our conversation on this matter Gabriel."

"W-What? You can't stop me from doing what I want to do in this matter Erik; you're not my keeper. Mdm. Fentz should know that I was the last one to see her husband. The poor woman probably thinks he left her for another woman. She should be allowed to grieve for him!"

He stood and glared at me. "You go to that woman and you will open up a Pandora's Box of questions and acquisitions. Yes, Gabrielle, you may do as you please, I will not argue that, but if you are bent on making your way to the Fentz's doorstep with your revelation, you will no longer take refuge in my home. I cannot afford the scrutiny. Are you clear on this my dear?"

What was Erik afraid of? The worst that could happen was the woman would dismiss me as being daft. Erik was making me angry, but I could not afford to alienate myself from his protection, not just yet anyway. "Alright Monsieur, I'll acquiesce to your wishes, but I do think t here would be no harm in sending an anonymous letter to Mdm. Franz detailing what I know. No return address, no names, just information. From there she can make her own assumption."

Erik begun to protest irritably, "Gabriel I…"

"Erik, _please_," I whined like a child, it's important to me. I need desperately to make some sort of connection to my former life. Being able to at least write a letter, even an anonymous one would import meaning to this odd occurrence even. My eyes begged loudly. I was desperate for Erik to approve my request.

He said nothing. A burning lump formed in my throat and tears wet the corners of my eyes. I stood and turned to walk away when he called to me softly.

"Gabrielle," he sighed, look here, I suppose you may send a letter to Madam. Fentz, but you will make no mention as to your location, no names, nothing that would reveal who you are or where you are living. I will also scan the correspondence before it goes to post. Those are my conditions. Do you understand dear?" His resolve was unwavering.

"Yes, of course Erik, I am grateful," I sniffled quietly, ashamed to show weakness, but childishly pleased that I'd won my way. "I have to go; I've quite a bit of preparation to do for our supper." I turned and swept out of the room. I had a letter to write before my workday began.

In my letter to Madam. Franz I explained briefly how I had seen her husband in New York City on June 7th. I described his clothes, the man's brown mutton chop sideburns and the pipe that he was holding. I also did my best to make the story of switching time periods with her husband seem plausible. Explaining minor aspects of the science of time travel in layman's terms, I hoped that she might comprehend the plausibility of my father's theories, and my story. I explained that, for my protection, I could not reveal myself, but sincerely hoped that in sharing this knowledge, she might achieve some sense of closure. A letter like this should have said a great deal more, but then would adding words have made more sense? Would words make up for a lost husband and father making righrt what had gone terribly wrong in the fabric of the universe?

I slipped the paper into an envelope, writing upon it the address provided in the newspaper account. Erik approved my prose quickly and promised to have Monsieur Roux drop it at the post office tomorrow when he and Marie went to Paris for supplies.

Even though I knew that sending a letter was realistically all I could do for the mourning woman, it felt like an impotent gesture.

The Figaro ran no more articles on the disappearance of M. Fentz. Erik's supposition was that the newspaper refused to sacrifice any more precious ink for the story unless there was something salacious to report. I was disheartened by both the Fentz's unrequited chronicle and the public's insatiable hunger for gossip. I imagined the later was an exclusive product of modern journalism's over-eager quest for a scope.

Life at Monsieur DuPuis' Manor house progressed slowly through the lazy French summer and on into fall. Marie still treated me like an alien from another planet, (if she only knew how close she was!) although there were occasional glimpses of civility. Once she praised my cooking and would sporadically give a dry little smile if our paths crossed during the workday.

M. Roux was a horse of a different color. He was warm and friendly and enjoyed regaling me with stories from his youth when he was courting Marie. He talked of all the places he would take her and of her family's concern about such as imprudent and gregarious young man wooing their shy Marie. I gathered from our conversations that M. Roux was somewhat of a rogue when he was younger.

Monday was the day the Roux's went to market for provisions. This time I tagged along to shop for a few personal items and whatever produce might be available this late in the season. Even though some fresh produce was shipped by rail from Spain during the winter months, Marie had informed me that there would not be much available other than late tomatoes, potatoes and squash. I had a desire to get out of the house. One could go stir crazy existing within the same four walls for as long as I had. Nearly four months had passed since Father Time unceremoniously plopped my breathing carcass down on the cold stone floor of Erik' underground vacation home. I needed to see people, to hear people, to be near people other than my three manor-mates; two of which were often quite dour.

I love Paris. In the 21st century, it is a modern cosmopolitan city with quaint old world flavour. Here in the 19th century it is the old world, decidedly grimier, but no less charming. Forty years prior, Monsieur Georges Haussmann's project had widened the boulevards and modernized the putrid sewer system. Paris was now much easier to deal with.

Ridding in the Brougham down the picturesque boulevards of France felt like being in a movie. After Monsieur Roux had stationed the rig, our little party of three made an agreement to meet back at the livery at 2:00 pm, four hours from now. I was greatly relieved for this arrangement since Marie would no doubt have nit-picked my green grocer choices until I said something unkind to the rigid woman and found myself in trouble once more with the Lord of the manor.

Venturing down the _Rue Mouffetard, _I returned shy smiles with passersby, happy to find that I was still visible to the general population even though none of them would have known me. I followed Marie's directions to the market and the bakery and picked up my foodstuffs. The market was overflowing with delicious gourmet food. I purchased the staples of the French diet: cheese, bread and wine, plus butter and a few herbs. On my return to the livery, I spied a confectionary. French chocolatiers are famous for creating rich treats to die for. There were few things I could treat myself to in this god-forsaken century, and good French chocolate was one of them. I might even treat Erik to a few of them if he behaved himself.

The man had been in a good humor of late. I could hear him in his music room composing. The music softer and sweeter than the usual dark melodies I heard wafting from his sacred room. Henri had even commented that the tense lines on his employer's face had softened considerably and that sometimes he even hummed when he visited the stable or was found chopping firewood. "A rare, yet pleasant sound coming from the usually cheerless man; I wonder what could have altered his temperament," Henri Roux would say winking impishly in my direction.

These curious people had a knack for making me nervous.

The shopping expedition left me exhausted. Searching through the crowed streets of Paris for unknown destinations and struggling to communicate with shopkeepers who didn't always pick up on my contemporary French was tiring. What I wouldn't give for one of those big corporate superstores now!

Mid November brought a frosty chill to the country air. I was never so glad to walk into the large house and feel the warmth and fragrance of a great wood fire in the main fireplace. Before we left that morning, I'd noticed Erik through the kitchen window, vigorously chopping firewood. Back home we called this chili weather. I decided earlier that morning it was time to whip up a good hearty pot of soup. The beans were soaking and I had cut up the chicken before the trip into Paris. It was time for these Parisians to experience an American culinary delight—Gabrielle's white chili. I diced chilies from my late summer garden, onions, cilantro and other spices, sautéing them with butter, and then added the chicken and broth, turning the fire low for three hours until suppertime. The fragrance drifted throughout the old house making it smell like a home. When it was time to be served, there would be cheese and real sour cream to top the chili with and cornbread with fresh butter for accompaniment. The later a tip of the hat to my time spent as young TV news reporter in the south. I went off to freshen up, giving the chili ample time for simmering to perfection.

While bathing, my mind drifted to Erik (as it had been more often lately). I wondered how the man had hurt his face. Henri had warned me when I first came to live at the manor _never_ to mention the mask. He told me that Erik had a horrific deformity hiding beneath it and he never took it off in the company of others. Henri also hinted of the inner sadness and rage living life with the malformation had caused Erik at the hands of others since the first day of his birth. What would cause humanity to cruelly shun a person, especially a child because of a handicap?

I recalled reading books telling tales of broken souls who were tortured by otherwise civilized townspeople. The tragic Joseph Merrick, otherwise known as the Elephant Man, or Mary Shelly's fictional Frankenstein both suffered viciously for their involuntarily ugly exteriors. Some people believed deformities were the product of inherent evil. It seemed as if only recent civilization had come to see deformed and handicapped people as the human beings they truly are, not tainted mistakes as was once thought by an ignorant culture. No longer is it acceptable to jeer and taunt someone with a handicap, doing so in the new century would be considered beyond politically incorrect, appalling or even unlawful.

Poor Erik was an intelligent and gifted man. His form was most impressive as well. Tall, fit and darkly beautiful, Erik possessed a brooding sensuality that was impossible for me to ignore. His visible features were striking; his eyes a smoky and haunting shade of jade. If it were 2005, I probably would have wanted to date him. I'm like that, a woman drawn to charismatically dark and anguished genius. My life would have been simpler if I'd just date accountants or engineers.

I wondered if Erik had ever loved a woman. I was sure he must have, and I was sure he had been destroyed because of the way he carried himself. Erik demonstrated the steely demeanor of a man who refused to be affected by worthless emotions. It was a classic symptom of sorrow.

**_I sure hope you like the story, either way; your reading and reviewing are encouraged! _**

_**Leesainthesky **_


	6. Ch 6 Fun with Food

**_It's been four months since Erik found the woman under the opera house. Tonight Gabrielle is preparing a traditional American dish for dinner. Things get a bit— interesting._**

CH. 6 – Fun with Food 

Supper was served nightly, six days a week at 6pm prompt. The seventh day, Sunday, was a day of ease when everyone took the day off and fended for himself or herself. The Roux's were always invited to supper, but rarely came, however tonight Erik had insisted that the Roux's break their usual tradition of dining in their cottage and join him. I learned that when Erik got a notion in his head, you'd do well to suck it up and comply. I imagine that's what Henri suggested to Marie that they do tonight. Perhaps Erik had gotten used to my company at the table and going back to solitary supping had become distasteful to him. Even thought he often ate alone, the reticent man was one for proper etiquette and that involved taking your place at the table, dressed and ready.

From my place in the kitchen, I heard Erik seat himself at the dining room table. Soon there were other voices drifting into the kitchen. I poured the hot liquid into a porcelain tureen and walked it to the dining room table where I set it down gently. After I had finished placing the bread and condiments on the table, I sat in my chair opposite Erik and smiled at them.

"I hope you don't mind, I took creative liberty tonight in preparing supper. I thought a good hot stew-like meal would warm up this cold night."

I waited for an unfavorable sign, but saw none, so I told everyone to help him or herself and instructed how to use the toppings. Suddenly I was interrupted, "what in the name of Moses _is_ it?"

"It's a thick soup Erik, white chili, you eat it with the bread I made, it's quite good— I call comfort food."

He sat stock still frowning at the chili as if it had teeth. "How old are you, 12?" I wanted to say. I ladled some into his bowl and passed it onto the Roux's. "I know it's not typical French cuisine, but if you give it a chance I thing you'll enjoy the dish. Please, Just try it won't you?" I hated to beg people to eat my food.

"Well I think it smells divine Mdm. Thomasen," Henri complimented as he ladled up a large portion into is bowl.

"Here my dear." He gently handed the tureen to Marie who held a look of stony trepidation on her face. Nothing out of the ordinary, so I really wasn't offended. She took a bit and set the bowl down. I showed them how to use the condiments, stirring my cheese and sour cream into the hot liquid and took a bite. "It's Pretty good if I do say so myself," I thought. Seeing that I had not poisoned myself, the Roux's took their first bite. I was pleased to see Marie register a look of approval as she sipped the chili.

"It's a splendid bisque my dear," M. Roux complimented as he added a large spoonful of cheese.

Erik, however, was still starring rather irritably at his. I couldn't help myself and laughed, "what, is there a fly in your soup Monsieur? Just take a bit Erik, it's good."

His furrowed his brow at me and huffed, "Mdm. I am not accompanied to eating peculiar food. Throw out this swill and bring me something edible," he demanded.

"Was he kidding? "I will do no such thing you big baby. I thought you had better manners Erik, really how insulting."

"Forcing your crude American victuals on me is not your duty Gabrielle. You are to serve me a reasonable array of fine French cuisine. I will not eat this!" He threw his spoon into the bowl, splashing the hot contents onto the tablecloth.

I shoved my chair back noisily and stomped off to the kitchen. "And I will NOT be in here making you something else—eat or starve Monsieur!" I yelled over my shoulder. I sat at the tiny table in the kitchen drinking a large glass of Red Bordeaux and nibbling a stay piece of cheese and fuming. The man seems so worldly yet he won't even take a taste of my American dish.

"French snob," I seethed under my breath.

I heard the Roux's excuse themselves as their chairs quietly slid over the dining room floor. With a heavy sigh I rose to walk back into the dining room. Erik was still seated at the table, but his bowl and bread plate were empty. Had he eaten the food or dumped it back in the tureen? I said not a word as I removed the dishes from the table.

"You were correct; the dish you made was palatable."

"Gee Thanks Erik; I'm so glad that my food did not cause you to retch." I starred at him icily.

"Will you be needing anything else monsieur, or may I be relieved?"

"Gabrielle, you didn't eat yours, wouldn't you like to sit down and finish your supper?"

"Unbelievable," I thought. I'm not hungry anymore Erik."

"Oh?" his visible eyebrow rose. "Who is acting the child now?"

Rolling my eyes I took my usual place. This man would not get the best of me. "You're right Erik, I should eat what I cook," I dipped more into my bowl to warm up that which had cooled off. I ate in silence thinking that it was a good batch of chili and how much my Dad loved the stuff. Erik moved from the table to go into the kitchen, returning briefly with another bottle of Bordeaux Blanc.

"Thanks," I said as I grabbed the bottle from his hand and took a crude swig off of it. Erik blanched, and then slowly began to laugh. The sound was low and melodious as it came from his diaphragm, into his throat, eventually founding escape out his mouth. I too laughed, nearly spitting wine from my nose. I offered the bottle to Erik and he took it from me, repeating my actions.

"We're a rather gauche pair aren't we?" "Oui Monsieur, don't be a piggy, share," I teased reaching for the bottle. We carried on laughing, drinking and talking about nothing until I had tears running down my cheeks.

- o -

Erik began to look tired as he warily massaged his left shoulder. His muscles must be sore from chopping wood today, I thought. I stood. Here, get up, I ordered, offering my hands to Erik. Looking at me quizzically, he obeyed, taking my hands in his, and then pushing back the chair with his legs to stand. I gave him a come hither look as I led him up the staircase to my bedroom. Erik's eyes changed from jade to forest green, his breathing had increased and he looked flushed. Too much wine, I wondered? Once we entered the bedroom I released his hands.

"Remove your garments from the waist up and lie face down on the bed Erik."

A roguish smirk touched his lips, "My dear Gabrielle," what wicked games have you in mind for the rest of our evening?" he purred deeply while his eyes roamed over me as if _I_ were dessert.

"What the—Erik, you naughty boy, I simply noticed that your back was hurting you and I thought that, well, living alone, it may have been a long time since you've had a proper massage. On the bed, now, face down," I ordered as I grabbed a bottle of Jasmine massage oil from the dresser and proceeded to the bed where my patient now lay. I sat to his left, on the bed and poured a generous amount of the oil in my hand to warm.

"Allow yourself to be comfortable and relax, if there are any spots that are particularly bothersome to you, let me know and I will pay special attention to working out the tension there."

"I suppose my neck, and shoulder on the right are quite sore."

Erik seemed to be flummoxed at what I was preparing to do, and for some reason this caused me to smile.

"It's a good thing be in control once in a while."

I applied the oil, spreading the fragrant balm lightly over his bare skin, working first at the neck and shoulders, and then moving down his spine to where his trousers began. Once he was used to my touch, I then began massaging the larger muscle groups up to his shoulders again. At one point Erik released a sigh that sounded like air escaping from a tire tube. I smiled, "Ah, finally he is letting go, the man is a virtual sphinx." Just as he had indicated, there was a hard knot on the left side of his neck that moved into the trapezius muscle on his shoulder and upper back. I applied pressure to the area, kneading it thoroughly. I had also noticed that his lower right side was tight, so, after daubing on more oil, set to relieve the tension. If I was to relieve him of his stiff neck, he would have to remove his mask, of that I was not sure he would be willing to do, but I tested the waters anyhow.

"Erik, I can relieve you of this nagging neck problem, if I can massage your scalp, which would mean removing your mask, are you willing to do that?" His hear jerked up simultaneously with a sharp "no."

"Oh dear, I didn't mean to upset him so, now I would have to work harder to relax him again."

"That's alright, I soothed, I can work around that." He relaxed once again and I continued to massage his muscles.

Erik was a lovely specimen of a man. His shoulders were fairly broad, and he was lean and well muscled. What troubled me were the curious gash marks on his back, scars as if someone had cut or whipped him. Good lord, there was so much that I didn't know about this man. There had been occasions when he had spoken of being hated and mistreated as a child because of his face. Once when I was visiting the horses in the barn, Monsieur Roux had told me that Erik had been held captive as a child in a traveling fair. His gypsy master had put him on display as "The Devil's Child."

M. Roux's sister in law had been the ballet mistress at the Paris Opera house. Madame Giry had known Erik as a boy. I supposed she had passed along stories to his elderly caretakers.

Simply knowing of these atrocities could explain why Erik was so strange. He was always secretive and aloof, yet one moment he would be cold and threatening, then, in an instant, gentle and generous.

As my hands touched his scars, I began to weep. How could anyone treat a child as an animal? No matter how many stories of child abuse I covered as a young journalist, I could never comprehend what would cause an adult to perform such brutal acts upon an innocent.

I rolled my head back, willing the tears to drain back into my eyes. Erik did not strike me as the type of man who would appreciate pity, even if it were genuine.

I had been massaging his back for over n hour now and my hands were beginning to ache. I drew my fingers up his spine in a light feathery motion; a subtle sign of completion.

Erik's head was turned toward me, resting on a pillow. His eyes were closed. I whispered his name, but got no response. I had stroked him to slumber on my bed. "

"Oh well, nothing else to do but tuck the baby in," I sighed throwing a spare quilt over him.

"Good night you Prince of Paris," I murmured softly.

Now, where was I going to sleep? I glanced around and decided that the velvet chaise would be long enough to crash on for one night. Grabbing another spare quilt from the closet and a pillow off of the bed, I undressed down to my chemise and made myself comfy on the chaise.

Morning seemed to approach mere moments after I had closed my eyes. The curtains were drawn and the fragrance of fresh fruit and pastries filled the room. I was also not on the chaise anymore. Sometime during the wee hours I had been placed back in the queen sized bed and carefully tucked in up to my neck. "Weird; how did he do that without making a sound," I wondered?

**Hummm…What's next? I'll have more chapters up later this week.**

**_Thanks for reading and reviewing. _– Leesainthesky**


	7. Ch 7 The Visitors

**Re-cap: _Gabrielle and Erik got tipsy at supper. Gabrielle takes a chance with Erik, mostly just helping him to relax. Life goes on (Ob la de ob la da…)_**

**Time the Avenger Ch. 7 - The Visitors. **

Five months had vanished since my arrival in19th century France. Many days would pass where I felt entrapped in a vortex of confusion and hopelessness. Would I ever see home again? Was I stuck in this backward timeline for the remainder of my natural life? Where were my ruby slippers? Where was my good witch of the north? I wanted to go home.

After our night of arguing, drinking and Erik's impromptu back rub, a less formal relationship began to form between the two of us. This occurrence helped salvage my sanity.

My enigmatic housemate now scowled less and smiled more, and it was not unusual to hear him humming a tune while sitting at the breakfast table reading the Figaro or strolling through the manor. Not to say that he became a pussycat, but I believe we began to trustone anotherenough to let up on our stiff behaviorand allow an easy familiarity to form.

Erik would often invite me into his library for literary discussions or to pick my brain about the centuries to come. I loved sitting in the lavishly decorated room. The interior was decorated with lush dark fabrics the colors of lapis, gold and wine. A manly chocolate leather sofa and chairs provided ample room for one to settle in for a good read. Ornate dark mahogany shelves filled with every sort of book imaginable lined the walls. An enormous Persian rug that would have cost a fortune in my day covered the length of the floor.

Today we bantered about music, the differences between 17th and 18th century composers and the various styles of modern music. Erik struggled to comprehend what the music of my time would be like; but them how does one explain the difference between _Rage Against the Machine, 50Cent,_ and _the Carpenters_?

He enjoyed hearing me sift through the various musical genres from Swing to Rock-N-Roll, Jazz, Punk, Country, and even Grunge.

I cringed at the thought of losing allbattery power tomy IPOD, but it was worth the sacrifice to watch Erik's face while he listened and learned. He enjoyed the Broadway musical selections, noting that they often translated both humor and sorrow well.

It took himsome time to warm up to rock and roll. I tried desperately to convince him that it was a viable format, full of raw passion, emotion and diversity. The vocals were often crude yes, but that is how many artists' communicate truth.

He wasn't crazy about Hip Hop, but did appreciate the rapper's freedom tocomment on their experiences. I explained it to him this way: "Yo dog, wuz jus trying ta keep it real. NawI mean?"

I'd yet to see such a look of exasperation on the refined man's face. "Gabrielle, not more of your frivolous 21st century-speak, it tires me so sometime, honestly..."

I laughed lightly. "Sorry, I'm teasing you some, that's rap-speak. I'll have to teach you Ebonics Erik."

"E-_what_?"

"Rap-speak, dog...never mind." Nope, I couldn't imagine Erik embracing the urban genera of music as his own.

He did appreciate the complex arrangements of the jazz musician. Theirirregular tempos intrigued him.

Country music, he just could not fathom. "What the hell is a double-wide and why would anyonesign about it?" He would question.

- o -

Life moved along at an even snails pace into December, that is until the Roux's youngest son and his companion came for a pre-holiday visit.

The Roux had one daughter and two sons. Their only daughter, Caron, was 20 and lived in Manchester, England. She had been married nearly four months when her husband, Gerald Spencer, was commissioned to serve his time in the British Navy. Gerald had been home only twice in the past 18 months. From Mdm. Roux's account, I deduced that Caron was very lonely young lady. Unfortunately for the Roux's she would be spending Christmas with her in-laws in England. M. Roux suggested that she might enjoy visiting after the holidays.

Henri waggled his fork at me, "It would be good for both of you ladies to have female companionship closer to your own age, no offense my dear," he directed toward his wife.

Their eldest child, Percy was 25, and lived in Nice with his wife and three children. He was carving out a good living for his family as an accountant who specialized in handling the personal finances of the wealthy. Although the Roux's were proud of their eldest son, they refused his relentlessly polite invitations to retire and move into his family home. The Roux's were proud working class people, not accustomed to being taken care of.

Warren was a tall, slender young man of 19 with sandy hair, blue eyes and an infectious smile. He attended University at Oxford in the study of Animal medicine. Warren wished to become a veterinarian.

Warren's Oxford chum, Reginald Roxbury, hailed from Brighton, England. The boy was a living Jane Austin character with his athletic build, dark hair and angular good looks. I wanted to call him Darcy. However, after meeting Reginald, I found him not to be stuffy, just trying hard to be a grown up.

In three days there would be visitors in the DuPuis household and Monsieur was not a happy camper.

I was in the kitchen preparing a roast for supper when I heard him reprimand Marie rather loudly. Apparently she was dusting and sweeping the library while he was in it.

"For the sake of the Angels Marie, must you sweep under my feet? If having your son and his natty friend in this house means suffering your frantic cleaning, then this will be the last visit!" I heard him bellow.

I think I recall her saying something like, "You may put your feet back down Monsieur DuPuis."

I giggled, and wondered how she got away with speaking to him as such.

- o -

The boys descended uponDuPuis Manor late on Friday afternoon. A cold rain beat steadily on the French countryside dashing the boys' hopes of getting in some quail hunting before supper. Instead they were relegated to polite conversation and a game of chess in the parlor.

Erik wasn't a great fan of company, but he would not be a rude host to his old friend's nephew. He graciously made sure their every need had been met before vanishing to his music room.Erik instructed me to keep an eye on the boys should they require any refreshments; a task I was happy to oblige. As much as I had grown tolike M.Dupuis, Icravedvariety in my companionship.

After Erik was safely out of earshot, Warren cheekily boasted, "Apparently Monsieur DuPuis does not wish to face us in a game of chess."

I let out a pithy laugh, "More like he doesn't want to embarrass you by giving you two a sound trouncing."

"Does Mdm. Gabrielle think we cannot hold our own against the gifted M. DuPuis? We are, after all, Oxford boys!" Warren continued.

"You should catch one of the marathons held at that chess board when his friend from Paris, M. Khan visits. The two men can go hours without eating while they pontificate their next move. Both are formidable chess players, but Erik wins more often than not." I smiled demurely at the boys.

Reginald shrugged, "No matter Mdm. My friend here will have his hands full with me."

"Then let us do battle, the loser helps Mdm. Thomasen with the supper dishes," Warren offered.

"Then either way, I win," Reginald winked mischievously in my direction.

I stood and straightened my skirt ignoring his comment. "May I get you boys something to eat or drink?"

"Thank you for your gracious offer Mdm. Thomasen, but we have all we need for the moment," Warren replied motioning to the full brandy decanter positioned near them on a marble topped wine chest.

"Then I'll summon you when supper is ready. And Please call me Gabrielle."

"Gabrielle it is," agreed Warren.

Reginald, deep in the throes of contemplating where to move a knight, nodded.

"I'll be looking forward to having help cleaning up tonight." This time I winked.

**_Author's note: This story will be moving to the _M_ category. After some re -writing and feedback, I have decided to spice it up a bit. So if that's not your thing, don't go there. However, it will be a good thing for our Erik._**

_This is a short chapter I know, but the next one will be longer. There will be some revelations too. Please keep reviewing. It means a lot to hear from you. - Leesaintehsky_


	8. Ch 8 Of Arrogance and Angst

**Re-cap: _The Roux's houseguest, their son Warren, and friend Reginald, make a wager with Gabrielle to wash dishes. From here it gets messy…_**

**Ch. 8 – Of Arrogance and Angst.**

The evening meal moved along pleasantly as Warren regaled us with tall tales of life at the University. His father laughed at the outlandish fraternity pranks and other assorted high jinks, while his mother furrowed her brows, throwing in a disapproving comment here and there.

Erik watched the family circle of conversation with a bemused look most of the evening. Even thought he did not possess the experience to be au fait with such exchanges, I do think he was enjoying his guests.

After clearing the table and delivering dessert (rice pudding), I returned to poke fun at the young men about their impetuous bet.

"So, which one of you are to help me with tonight's cleanup; Warren or Reginald?"

Both of them looked up from their dessert and exchanged glances with one another.

"Oh, you thought I'd forget did you? Wrong-o buck-o! Confess, who will be my willing assistant in the kitchen."

Warren, with a mouth full of dessert politely pointed his spoon at Reginald.

"Reginald, are you up to the task at hand dear?"

"I will not shirk my duties Mdm. Gabriel, after all, how hard can woman's work be?" He shrugged.

"What are you people going on about?" Erik inquired tersely.

"It seem that these boys made a wager on their chess game. The loser's fate is to help me with tonight's cleanup. Isn't that a hoot—er— funny?"

"Absurd is more like it. Really Gabrielle, you don't entertain the idea that he will actually make good on the degrading wager do you?" Erik countered.

I choose to ignore the degrading comment; 19th century men were even more lacking than modern men when it came to deference toward the opposite sex.

"Of course! A man is only as good as his word, especially an Oxford man, isn't that right Reginald?"

Reginald placed his napkin on his empty plate, stood and bowed slightly to me, "Mdm. Gabrielle is correct, first and foremost, I am a man of my word. Show me to the galley Madame."

Erik scowled and shook his head, as did Warren's mother. Both father and son howled with laughter at the prospect of the fine young Englishman washing dishes.

I assigned Reginald the simple task of clearing the table. This he did without destroying any of Erik's fine china and crystal. Push came to shove when it was time to clean the pots and pans. I hated doing these because food embedded itself to the bottoms like crazy glue. Teflon lined cookware and grease dissolving detergent had yet to be invented in 1876.

"Reginald, you see to be a rather strong fellow, would you mind terribly to clean these pots and pans for me? It's is one of the less feminine of my kitchen tasks because it takes a strong touch." I offered him the offending pot and a bit of steel wool.

He smiled his brilliant smile at me, "Mdm. Gabrielle, your wish is my command; hand me some soap and I shall slay your dirty dragons."

Needless to say it took him a good bit of elbow grease and scrubbing to clean the cast iron thoroughly.

We had ample time for talking so I took advantage of chatting up one of the few human beings I had met during my tenure in this century.

"What is it like at Oxford, Reginald?"

"The University is an institution of prominence above all other seats of learning Mdm. Gabrielle. By virtue of its antiquity, doctrine and privileges it is a fine forum for learning and intellectual debate, " Reginald proudly boasted.

"Impressive Reginald." I compliment him.

"I had read that their prestigious halls produced many famous men such as Lord Byron, Isaac and Newton and Lord Acton who, I believe, coined the clever phrase, _power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely._"

"My Madam does have a vast knowledge of historical figures. Both bright and beautiful too—a rare combination in most women."

"Why Monsieur, I'm so very flattered," I batted my eyelashes at him coyly, all the while thinking _moron_.

"Many Americans have also chosen a royal education. Your fellow William Penn was an Oxford man." Reginald continued.

"Why yes," nearly adding that there was a recent American President as well, but I quickly recovered my wits in time to realize that Mr. Clinton had another 60 or so years yet to be born.

"You are good at yes your history Reginald. Penn was not only a famous champion of liberty and religious freedom, but he scandalously insisted that women deserved equal rights with men."

"It is indeed a good turn of events that the man made America his home? I am afraid his odd ideas would have him tarred and feathered in the streets of Europe," the boy chuckled as if I too would find the idea of equality among the sexes absurd.

"Bigheaded Butt-munch," I quietly seethed. I didn't care if he didn't know any better.

Perhaps it was time for Reginald to learn a lesson of another sort.

"Of course Monsieur, women could never match the intelligence of men. We would be silly to wish for anything more that the fine duties of motherhood and service to our husbands, do you not agree?" I intoned sweetly, batting my eyelashes at him again.

"But there are no women at Oxford, so where does a fine young catch like you go for female companionship?" I moved closer to him.

"He smiled a smile of haughty confidence," actually Gabrielle, my parents wish for me to wed a girl who is the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Leicester. The nuptials are to occur shortly after graduation. Our family has enjoyed great stature in England for centuries and it would not do for me to marry below my station. But, I assure you; I have my share of willing wenches while I remain a bachelor." Here he winked at me leeringly.

I moved in for the kill.

"Oh, no doubt of it; you are a very virile man. If I weren't older than you, I might fancy you myself," I blushed and flirted shamelessly.

It was all I could do to not burst out laughing when he took a step near me and whispered in my ear, "Gabrielle, you can't be that much older, anyway, I am quite mature for my age, I am certain that a young man would be able to satisfy your needs as much better than that old fellow Monsieur DuPuis."

He thought I was sleeping with Erik. I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing.

I feigned outrage." You think I am sleeping with the master of the house, oh Monsieur, what sort of woman do you think I am! He is my benevolent benefactor and nothing more; really, he's much too old for me. I prefer my men younger."

I looped my dishtowel around his neck and pulled him nearer.

Reginald scanned our surroundings nervously for any sign of life. Once assured that no one could see us, he grabbed me around the waist, roughly pulling my body to his. His mouth crushed down on mine for a sloppy, clumsy kiss.

"Well then Reginald, I whispered in his ear, is it the hay then, in the barn loft?" I intoned seductively.

I don't think the green young man expected such an invitation from me. He turned red and stuttered nervously, "why, of course Mdm—er—Gabrielle; that would be lovely. I'm afraid we don't have any French letters on me."

"Then we'll have to make due won't we luv," I cooed knowing full well that he would never attempt such a daring act as to bed the formidable Monsieur DuPuis' partner's Niece.

I reached between his legs and grabbed his package firmly in my hand. I looked him dead in the eyes.

"Of course if Monsieur DuPuis caught us, I could be out on my fanny and you, well, I dread to know what the dark Lord of this manor might do if he even caught us kissing in his kitchen. But then I am just an ignorant, lower class woman, Isn't that right Reginald? Good for nothing more than a good rutting or two."

He was sweating profusely and turning more red than I thought humanly possible.

"M-madam Gabrielle, I don't know what you are insinuating, I, I must take my leave!" He bolted from the kitchen like a wild horse with a cowboy on his back.

I bent over in the corner of the kitchen galley, attempting unsuccessfully to stifle the laughter rolling up from my belly. I had tears in my eyes when I turned around. I straightened up and leaned against the sink. When I looked out into the dining area I saw Erik; and he _did not_ look happy.

"What in god's name have you been doing in here?" He snarled at me.

I sobered up quickly. "Just toying with that arrogant young man, he deserved to be knocked down from his pedestal a few pegs."

"I came in here to see how badly you were torturing the boy with that retched bet when I saw him grab you. I saw the kiss, I witnessed you nestling up to him and whispering in his ear too."

He gritted his teeth and came so close to me I could feel his hot breath on my nose.

"Gabrielle, Please tell me it was a hallucination of mine when I thought I saw you grab that boy's crotch?"

I was stone cold busted.

"Welllll, yes and no. I was teaching him a lesson. Honestly Erik, do you think I want that little whelp? If I were truly a wanton, of all the men in this house at the moment, Reginald would not be my first choice for seduction." I peered at him shyly hoping to charm my way out of this pickle.

"Don't even start with me Madame. I heard what you said. I have no delusion about your intent toward me if that is what you are inferring. Do you think me a fool Gabrielle? You little wench; if I should ever catch you plying your trickery upon anyone in this house again, especially a guest, or conducting yourself in any manor that is not becoming of a lady, you will find yourself out on your rear! Do I make myself clear Madam?"

Oh was he livid; I had never seen Erik appear as menacing as he did at this moment. Why had my shenanigans set him off so? He looked like he wanted to strangle me.

His grip on my arm was becoming painful. I started to tear up from pain and humiliation.

"It was only a joke, Erik, I swear, I will never do anything remotely like that again. Just please let go of my arm, you're hurting me."

I don't even think he realized he was holding onto me. He gapped at his appendage as if it had mindlessly wrapped itself around my arm, then released his grip but continued to stare at me with a look of disgust

"Gabrielle, I don't care if it was a joke. In this time and place, in _my_ home you will not conduct yourself like a whore while you live under my roof." His voice was low and menacing.

"That's what you think of me Erik? Then aren't you insulted that I have yet to invite _you_ into my bed? I could profit much more from bedding the master of the house than a callow school boy." I lashed out at him angrily.

"How dare you speak to me in such…"

I cut his terse reply short by pushing past him and running for the sanctuary of my room.

Once there I turned the key and pushed a small chair in place under the doorknob. It was the only object device that would keep Erik from entering should he choose to.

It was near midnight when the house finally settled down into the silence of slumber. I desperately needed t o make a visit to the water closet, which of course meant venturing into the hall and risking a confrontation with one of three men who slept in the house this night.

I made my way as stealthily as possible down the hall, careful to avoid any loose floorboards that would announce my presence by creaking under foot. Once the mission was accomplished, I became brave and headed down to the kitchen. I needed provisions. First two bottles of wine from the current selection I had brought up earlier that day from the wine cellar, then a ½ baguette, followed by a small bit of Chambret. I tucked all but the wine into a napkin and headed back upstairs. There were still a few items I needed from the bedroom, a pillow, blanket, my journal and IPOD.

Now I was ready for my hideaway.

Although I preferred the presence of others to living the life of a loner, sometimes a person needs a temporary haven from the world. The turret in the mansion's west wing was my destination. I had discovered the desolate location during an exploration of the house one very mind-numbingly dull afternoon when I had had my fill of books and naps.

The door to the highest point in the house was caked with dust and cobwebs. Because there were no fingerprints anywhere on the woodwork, I assumed that this area had remained untouched for a substantial amount of time. It seemed the perfect cubbyhole for a wayward wanton woman.

Trying to leave little evidence of my own presence, I carefully pried the door open. The wooden stairs wound narrowly upwards in the dark. I heightened the gas lamp's wick and climbed the 20 plus feet upward until I found the turret's simple wooden door.

Pushing it open with my foot, I tentatively ducked my head in, almost expecting bats to hear the swooshing of bat wings. No bats came, so I entered the round room and secured the door behind me.

Dusty trunks and boxes were stacked all around the area. A large stained glass window adorned the house's front side. In the gloom it was impossible to discern what sort of design there was on it. I had noticed the window from the outside before, but the only thing that stood out in my mind was its colors gold, green and purple. Nothing but dust occupied the space underneath, so I made my camp there under the dark glass.

I made a palate, put on my headphones and opened a bottle of the wine. The food I would save. I had no inkling as to how long Iwould stay stashed up here, but I wasn't in any mindset to join the company of my harsh taskmaster anytime soon.

A fierce despair had enveloped me. Was losing my place in time nature's way of punishing my father for meddling in certain laws of physics of which he had no business? "Gabrielle," I chided myself, "Aren't you being a bit over the top?"

Home and family were lost to me now. I had vanished from the world in which I had lived, and was invisible toa world where I now existed. As a woman, my opinions, abilities and choices mattered little in this century. And yet I belonged nowhere and to no one.

All I knew of this time was a sliver of Paris, the manor house in the country; it's inhabitants and the fifth cellar of the Paris Opera house. I often slipped back to that strange night when I found myself dirty and injured on the floor of that cold place—the place where I first met Erik. Disorientation and fear had been my prevalent state of mind that dark night. I never thought to ask him what he was doing slinking around down there. It seemed an odd location for a wealthy gentleman composer and architect to be spending his evening. Perhaps he was searching for stored manuscripts, but still, how strange…

I put on my headphones turned on the IPOD and popped the cork on a bottle of the Bordeaux. I was hesitant to deplete the batteries of the IPOD, but I craved the comforts of modern technology too much to concern myself with the worry. I drank and I wrote in my journal. When Trent Reznor or Chrissie Hynde ranted in my headphones, I ranted on paper, when Tory Amos mourned, I too mourned, when hope rose from the Lyrics of P.O.D. I too wrote of the hope found in being alive.

Mercifully sleep claimed my body granting temporary rest to my weary soul.

The earth in December pulls farther away from the sun causing it to shed a less brilliant light over the French countryside, thus making it harder to tell time by the position of the sun. I opened the little stained glass window and peered out. Life below the turret was quiet. Judging by the angle of the light in proportion to the trees, it was near 3:00 in the afternoon.

"Had I really sleep that long?"

Not prepared to face the land of the living just yet, I stood and stretched, then began to wander around the cramped attic area. I found stacks of boxes tied with twine and several great steamer trunks littering the floor space. Dust particles swirled into the sunbeam as my footprints disturbed their slumber on the old floor.

I admit to being a voyeur. I love knowing about people's lives. Where they have been, what they have worn, what they had held dear—even saved magazine and newspaper clippings tell a lot about a person's historical and emotional make-up. Finding bits of people's lives was fascinating. There were often wedding and birth announcements. Locks of hair from heads that had long since had any. Stray teeth, elementary school pictures with crooked smiles and pictures from your first dance with that awful hair-do you spent good money on. I figured perusing these trunks wasn't snooping; it was investigation, which had been my trade. How else was I going to learn anything about the famous Erik DuPuis?

I snatched a peek here and there into a few of the trunks. Most of what I found were piles of sheet music or old blankets and clothing. Occasionally I would run across a trunk filled with strange trinkets—bee's wax tapers, some small gilded candelabras, a diminutive wind-up music box with a porcelain dancing girl on top and several dead roses.

A particularly large trunk held many drawings and rolls of blueprints. One blueprint appeared to be of a palace. Its intended location I could not discern, but I know I had seen it in a book on the Persian Royalty some years ago. Reading Erik's notations proved impossible so I moved on to another treasure chest.

A small black tin trunk that had been tucked among some boxes caught my eye. Inside were yellowed copies of various newspaper clippings and other mementos.

I came across a ragged stuffed monkey, a beloved childhood toy I'm sure. Then there was this curious bit of cotton resembling a small pillow, however on closer inspection I could see three tiny holes had been cut into the fabric—one for a nose, and two for eyes. A sickening chill ran through me as I realized that this was not a child's play costume, but a mask scaled to fit an infant for the purpose of hiding him from the world. What sort of mother would make her baby wear something so wretched? "Oh Erik!" I gasped audibly when I realized this horrid mask must have belonged to him.

I began nosing through the clippings. Most were only five or six years old. There was one detailing the story of how a gypsy had been strangled at a fair traveling through France. A young waif was the suspected culprit. That one was yellowed, barley legible and dated back some forty years. There were announcements on new building projects, and a review of an opera singer, a Mademoiselle Christine Daae.

The majority of the clippings I read had a common theme; a missing soprano and her fiancé', a fire at the Opera Garnier and a mysterious masked figure they called the _Phantom of the Opera_.

"Whoa," I thought. I remember a book by that name. I think I read it when I was a kid, maybe eleven or so.

I read through a half a dozen of the newspaper accounts before I began to realize that legend was reality.

Another report in the _Gazette_ said that French authorities had been searching for the madman they claimed was responsible for the sinister chaos at the opera house. He was tall, six foot four, with black hair, green eyes and most likely wearing a mask. If not, he would be badly deformed on the right side of his face and his hair might be brown. He was believed to be a composer who had fallen for the diva Christine Daae'. The man in question had allegedly written a most vulgar opera for her then taken her hostage when she unmasked him on stage during their performance.

Bells were ringing in my head. "Tall, dark, masked, composer—oh $hit."

_Please R & R. Thanks to my lovely reviewers Pertie, Kay, Elise and all of you others! xxoo. Until next time, Leesainthesky._


	9. Ch 9 The Unearthing

**Re-cap: Gabrielle had gotten in trouble with Erik for playing a game with Reginald. While hiding out in the turret, she makes a chilling discovery…**

Ch 9 – The Unearthing 

_Bells were ringing in my head. "Tall, dark, masked, composer—$hit."_

Several newspaper accounts agreed that the gallant Viscomte de Chaney, Mlle. Daae's fiancé, had put an end to the miserable monster's rein by shooting him. He fell into the underground lake near an outtake. His corpse was never found.

I sat in the middle of the dusty floor with clippings strewn around me. I was stunned by my revelation. As a journalist, I was trained to piece details together in order to uncover a factual story. My connect-the-dots method had led me to one conclusion: Erik was the infamous Phantom of the Opera. I knew it was a popular book, but no one in modern times believed it to be true. Erik didn't look like a death's head; he didn't seem insane. I'm sure turn of the century author Gaston Laroux took some artistic license with his portrayal. Perhaps he was even protecting the eccentric composer.

What does this mean Gabrielle? Is Erik a deranged and obsessive monster or simply a deeply wounded artistic soul?

"I sure hope he isn't seriously bi-polar in the Jekyll-Hyde sense," I said out loud.

Stop it Gab, you're freaking yourself out.

Glancing out of the small circular stained glass window, I noticed that the sun had shifted considerably. I put the clippings back in their proper place and walked over to the window. The sun was kissing the treetops. Had I been engrossed in perusing the remnants of this gothic soap opera the entire day? My stomach growled yes, so I chewed on the last piece of bread and washed it down with some wine.

The attic was surprisingly warm for mid-winter, I suppose the intense sun had warmed the western side of the house. Wine and thought had exhausted me so I snuggled into my cocoon for a nap. I may have fallen asleep easily, however the act of sleep was anything but. Dreams battered my subconscious mind. One specific dream was particularly unsettling.

I was walking through a verdant forest when I heard my name being called. There appeared to be no obvious source for the mellifluous voice, yet it kept calling to me to come and find it. At one point I thought I had located the voice behind a large rock. When I checked the rock's backside, it morphed into the face of a disfigured, rotting head. The head smiled broadly at me revealing a host of maggots feasting within its flesh.

I did not have the presence to scream but boy did I want to. A hand on my shoulder caused me to jump. I turned around to find Erik's jade eyes boring into me with a fiery opalescence.

"Gabrielle, where have you been, did you not hear me calling for you darling?" His voice lacked the harshness I would have expected from him. Instead it was calm, lilting and seductive.

Suddenly, as is often the way in dreams, we were devouring each other in feverish kisses. In the next instant we were on the forest floor using his cloak as a shield against the elements. I was moaning in ecstasy as Erik made love to me.

"How does it feel to have me inside of you feel Gabrielle? Do you like it? Tell me," he panted into my ear.

"Yes Erik, more I whimpered." It was exactly what I had wanted in that moment.

I opened my eyes to the face of my fiancé Tony.

"So Gabrielle," he sneered, are you enjoying fking someone else for a change? I know _I've_ always enjoyed sexual variety. Good little Gabrielle, my faithful fiancée, well you're not so virtuous now are you sweetheart?"

"Get off of me Tony! Why are you hurting me you jerk-off?" I shrieked. He just laughed manically as I struggled to free myself from his grip. I had taken kickboxing lessons at the gym, but even those couldn't help me now.

The dream faded to darkness, then I was back in Erik's arms. He was attempting to comfort me and I was still thrashing and screaming, "Let me go!"

"Shhh, it's all right. Gabrielle, stop fighting me, I am not going to harm you. It's only Erik. Tranquillité mon cher," He intoned.

His voice was soothing and his arms were warm and comforting. I obeyed his request and calmed down. It was then that I realized the dream had ended.

Dreaming, I was merely dreaming. Thank the lord. I continued to hyperventilate and sweat, barely cognizant of the fact that Erik was comforting me.

The Phantom of the Opera had found my hidey-hole.

"My word Gabrielle, were you hoping to live up in my tower like a dark-haired Rupunzil? It's of no matter now; I was searching for you when I heard you screaming. It seems that you have been plagued by dreadful night-terrors darling."

He smoothed the damp hair from my face. I couldn't bring myself to stand, my dream had shaken me so, plus I was playing possum—pretending to be dazed and confused.

Playing the helpless maiden was not my modis operandi, but after what I had discovered in the tin trunk, I needed some downtime for processing, not confrontations.

I clung to Erik like a Limp Biscuit. He continued cooing soft reassurances over me as he carefully descended the stairwell. Eventually we reached my room where he threw back my linens with one hand and placed me on the bed. I was still wearing the flannel nightgown from two nights ago.

Erik drew the covers over me, making sure I was covered up to my neck. He then moved the Queen Anne's chair close to my bedside and sat.

"Gabrielle, he whispered, I am a $hit. I forget that you know not how to conduct yourself at times. We are from worlds as different as those inhabited by Frija and the despicable Hades. Forgive me for my insensitivity. As a man of keen intelligence, I should realize such things and exercise patience when confusion arises between us."

He began murmuring a calming lullaby in an unfamiliar language. I slipped into an easy, dreamless sleep.

- o -

Morning grew into afternoon as I slept away another winter day. I marveled when no one, namely the insistent Mdm. Roux didn't come rapping at my door.

Who was handling the cooking, I wondered? Had Erik had covered for me by claiming that I was incredibly ill, so ill in that I should not be disturbed?

I didn't care. My head was throbbing. "Crap-ola," I groaned, pushing my head deeper into the down pillow.

If only I could cause myself to disappear, except I lacked the power to spirit myself to and from at will, because if I did, I'd be back in Chicago arguing with my beloved.

Time for a reality-check Gab—if this is your real life, then you had better face it now, or go drown yourself in the Seine.

I pulled my worn body from the bed, wrapped the coverlet around me and drug my carcass to the window. From M.Roux point of view the winter had been a mild one, but today an inch or more of snow kissed the ground.

Nothing except shades of gray as far as I can see. Isn't it ironic. I made puffs of fog on the cold glass with my breath.

A stark realization hit me as I turned from the window; if I were to get along in this place and time, I would have to stop pretending that I was not different from others. Learning to conduct myself approximately among this world's inhabitants would benefit me greatly. Erik was often surely which could make approaching him unpleasant, but I knew I had to confront him about my behavior. I must put aside my pride and fear to ask for his guidance.

After dressing, I made my way down stairs. It was near mid-afternoon and M. Roux would have already returned from the post office. Erik would be in the library sorting through his mail.

There he sat at his great mahogany desk in front of the room's only window. The natural light was just enough for him to sort and read his mail by without further illumination.

Erik's elegant form was turned away from me affording a view of his broad back and a partial view of the left side of his face. He was an arresting sight in his dark clothes, hair and features. There was something about him that pulled me in, as if I lingered too long in his presence, I would come under his spell.

"Good morning Monsieur," I spoke politely as I stood in the doorway.

His lifted his head from the mail and he turned to get a better look at me. "I believe it is now afternoon Gabriel," his voice was neither warm nor formidable

"May I enter?"

"Be my guest," he motioned for me to enter, but not to sit.

With my hands clasped behind my back I began my plea," Erik, your toleration of me in your home has not gone unappreciated. I am sure you think me to be a crude and unrefined woman. I realize that my words, demeanor and attitude can be vexing to you. I often laugh a little too loud, speak out of turn and in-approiately; I may seem a terrible flirt, which I am not. I simply like people and I genuinely enjoy the company of men as friends. You see in my world, women are more independent and less reliable on men for their livelihood than your ladies are. I am not accustomed to being dependant on others for survival. I loathe it."

"You see, my mother split—left that is, when I was very young. Dad was a terrific parent, but he was preoccupied with his work so I learned early to fend for myself. I learned to speak up for myself, to push forward and not look back. I now find myself in a position where my methods of survival are no longer valid. This realization is very difficult for me."

Erik remained silent, simply eying me calmly as I continued.

"Erik, I...really, _really_ need your help," I nervously bit my lower lip.

"This time may well be my new reality. I could live out the rest of my days from this point in 1876. Difficult as that is to face, I will not, cannot submit to despair. I need to survive and I need you to show me how. Show me what to do and what not to do, Believe it or not, I do possess manners and have the ability to get along in polite society, but that is 2005. This is well, definitely _not_."

With one hand, he stroked his chin and part of the mask with an air of consideration then turned completely around to face me, leaning one elbow on his desk.

He gave a light laugh, "Gabriel, you want _me_ to guide you in the ways of this world?" You have chosen a formidable teacher my dear."

Footnotes:

**T_ranquillité mon cher_**_: Quiet my dear. **Frija** is a Norse goddess. She knows the fates of all men and gods, although she does not desire to prophesy. Goddess of settled civilization, she represents married sexuality. She is the Goddess sun symbolism, and is an aspect of fate._

_**The cat's out of the bag, but the fun has just begun.**_

_**Please let me know what you think. And thanks for the reviews my lovies. - Leesainthesky**_


	10. Ch 10 Barn Burning

_**Thank you for the suggestions reviewers. Enjoy this one. It's long and it really earns the full adult 'M' rating toward the end, so be warned if you're not old enough for such things. LITS**_

**Ch 10 – Barn Burning:**

Erik's new mentoring role was vastly different from the previous endeavor with his opera diva. For one thing, no singing was involved.

Every day after I finished up with the breakfast dishes, I would join Erik in the music room where we worked endlessly on my French, followed by mundane nineteenth-century rules and social graces, proper greetings, and how a Victorian lady should conduct herself in mixed company.

Erik complimented me on my impeccable table manners and knowledge of settings, wines and so forth. He seemed pleased at how quickly I grasped current customs of behavior when attending the preforming arts.

My modern understanding of his mother language had to be edited according to 1876 standards. I struggled remembering to offer a dainty hand when meeting members of the opposite sex, or a curtsey for people of prominence.

I preferred a firm handshake to all of that nonsense. "I'm terribly sorry Erik, but every time I curtsey, I feel silly," I apologized to my tutor..

"Social conventions are often frivolous, Gabrielle; however, if your goal is to fit into our society, mastering our customs in imperative," he kindly reminded me.

"I know, I know," I sighed and shook my head. "Try as you might you'll never be able to fully re-program, or should I say eradicate, all of my quirky personality Erik. "

He studied me for a moment before answering. "Gabrielle, I would never wish to destroy your uniquely personality, it is what makes you delightfully different from most of the other women I have observed. It is my experience that the better you are at mimicking the idiosyncrasies of nineteenth-century French society, the better you will be at fooling them. That dear girl is our goal."

"Ah ha, the old knowledge is power game, sweet—I mean excellent, I like that."

"Good, then we are in agreement."

Our daily sessions continued through December. Erik would instruct, I the dutiful student, listened and learned.

Comparing the social disparities of the his century to the mine was one of Erik's favorite amusements. He might, for example, be reminding me that a woman did not venture out at night un-chaperoned, lest she open herself up to being branded as loose or worse, get herself assaulted.

"Sure," I agreed, "Women must be vigilant at all times, but what do you do if you can't find anyone to go with you—I mean, a lady can't be expected stay home all the time?"

"That's just the way things are Gabrielle," he said with a shrug.

"Well things need to change. Look at your daring authoress Madame George Sand, a woman who goes where she pleases _and_ wears pants. Sand was married, divorced and earns her own money writing novels. She lives with her longtime male lover now, so you can't stereotype her as being a 'he-she' as you people are fond of saying," I countered with conviction.

"True enough. I've always admired the woman's bravado. Madame Sand constantly astounds Parisians with her guileless study of women's sexuality and her ardent call for a women's freedom to find emotional and sexual satisfaction, something unheard of in post revolutionary France. The nobles outrage on about how a woman with money and prestige is a barbaric notion. They feel she shames them somehow," he snickered wickedly.

"But as far as wearing pants to the Opera as she is want to do, well, I much prefer a women in a gown when attending elegant events," he added.

I couldn't argue with his preference for formal dress at the arts. I myself dug a man in a tux. Erik himself was a superb example of a magnificently dressed gentleman.

"Couture styles come and go, thank god these constraining corsets are on the way out, but limiting someone's rights as a human being based solely on their sex is criminal Erik."

He shifted in his chair, crossing one leg over the other thigh and leaned toward me.

"There are some things a woman simple cannot do as well as a man. It would be irrational to disagree with me Gabrielle."

I felt my defenses rise. "Are you inferring that it is irrational for a woman to have the right to vote in her country's elections, or to venture into public whenever she pleases without raising eyebrows? Does a woman not have the right to wear whatever she chooses, how about the right to desire a career before settling down into marriage and motherhood? Then there is the sex thing. I recall from my history of women's studies class in college that your women loathe sex. Wives dutifully spread their legs and counted the cracks on the ceiling whenever their husbands needed to scratch an itch. A proper lady wasn't expected to enjoy the act; engaging in more feminine occupations, you know, having hordes of children, homemaking, and planning social events gained her rewards. This was one theory as to why wealthier men kept mistresses. They had to get their freak on somewhere. It was boring at home!" Temporarily through with my righteous ranting I paused for his rebuttal.

Erik appeared amused by my upsurge. "I assume 'freak-on' is another colorful twenty-first century euphemism, Gabrielle?"

I disregarded his comment. "I mean, it's one thing to rut like a boar with any one who comes along and strikes your fancy, but to spend a married lifetime in sexual frustration, it's just plain sad. Erik, you don't agree with this century's idiotic precepts do you?"

"There you go again, asking un-lady like questions Gabrielle," he chuckled.

My eyes narrowed with displeasure.

He uncrossed his legs and sat back smiling. "You should know that I don't care what you ask me, other than prying into my past, but in matters of societal norms, I care not. You and I are _not_ conventional people regardless of what time period we hale from."

His calm reserve unnerved me. I sensed something more animal lurked beneath his fine European silk and wool.

"So to answer to your question dear, no, I do not believe that women are incapable of enjoying their bodies. The idea that they cannot is another form of oppressing those different from the ruling masses. In this way, I sympathize with thee fairer sex."

"An astute observation, Monsieur."

"Observation is my modus vivendi. I have witnessed scores of trysts in the dark halls of theatres and the alleys of Paris. The women appeared to be quite involved in the act. Should you peruse my library, you'd find countless books on the art of erotica; and yes, I have read every one. The precepts of the passionless married woman belong to the feeble minds of lazy misogynistic men."

I was still stuck on the "books on erotica" section of his speech; my mind had wandered off into dangerous territory. The dark and damaged Monsieur DuPuis became more appealing to me with his every word.

"My experience in pleasures of the flesh is less than admirable, however, should I ever be blessed with a wife, I would cherish her, love her and please her to the best of my manly ability. Customs be dammed."

"That's very sensitive of you, Erik," I said, surprised by the forbiddingly elegant man's discernment of heterogeneous relations.

He gazed at me curiously. "You are engaged, correct?" .

Uncomfortable with his inquiry, I adjusted my position on the chaise and curled my legs beneath me.

"Was."

Silence and a raised eyebrow--did he want the sordid details?

"Tony and I worked together on the television show I told you about. He was a photo- journalist, that is, he recorded everything I did on a live camera. We became friends, dated or courted as you say, and fell in love. The next natural step was to move in together, couples in my time do that a lot; it's sort of a try-before-you-buy plan."

Erik frowned and leaned forward to rest his chin on his knuckles.

"I know, not always wise. We lived together for two years before I discovered his undercover activities. My easy going, urbane fiancé was boinking other women on the side, sometimes in our bed. I was completely shattered. I didn't want to believe that the man I had chosen to love could betray me so horribly by sleeping with other women while he was promised to me."

"Bastard," Erik spat.

"For sure. I left his sorry ass and spent the next year wandering around Chicago in a daze of disillusionment. I wondered what _I_ had done to drive him into the arms of other women. I dated around, but found that game mind-numbing. When Tony came crawling back on his belly like a sorry reptile a year later begging for forgiveness, I took him back."

Erik's sat back up and stared at me with startled surprise.

"Hey," I rationalized, "Tony apologized profusely, saying how wrong he was and that he would never, ever do such a self-centered depraved thing again. He simply could not live without me and wouldn't I please take him back, give him a second chance?"

"And so you did," Erik finished the story for me.

"So I did. I loved him. . . wanted to believe in him. So we got engaged over Christmas. All seemed well in the house of love until this last trip to New York. He asked me to stash his mobile phone in my purse during the performance of '_Sweet Charity_'. When I was in the ladies room during intermission, I checked for calls from the Television station and saw a familiar number on the phone's display. It belonged to a woman he'd had an affair with. Yeah, I listened to the message. 'Hi there sweetie, it's Jamie, surprise; I'm in New York this weekend too. Let's hook up when your little fiancé goes for her spa appointment tomorrow. Kisses' "Jokes on him, I still have his stupid phone. I'll bet he's going nutso looking for it!"

I had entered into a trance as my mind ferried back to that night not too long ago in New York City when everything fell apart.

"That was strike one. When I was unpacking his things after you brought me here, I found condoms, I think you call them French letters. Problem is, we don't use them. Strike two. Strike three was really his first one. He just wouldn't commit to a wedding date. When I pressed him, Tony would get up all in my grill, ah, I mean face—see Erik, I'm catching myself—and tell me to stop pressuring him. After a year, I don't think my question was unreasonable. Do you?"

I met Erik's eyes. I wasn't sure if I saw compassion or pity in them.

"You must think me pitifully foolhardy, huh?"

"Foolhardy, you? Never, dear lady. Pity for a broken heart? Perhaps in my case—I made a lot of rash, egotistical mistakes, but you Gabrielle sound like an honorable lady."

Erik's tone turned black as he continued. "Why must some handle the hearts of others as though they were toys for their amusement to be played with and discarded on a whim?"

A bottomless melancholy took hold of him and I wondered what sword of Damocles had pierced his heart.

In a blink, his attention snapped back to me."That Tony fellow is a callow fool for his careless treatment of you,Gabrielle." He glanced at my hand. "I have observed you no longer wear your engagement ring as you did when I first found you."

I lifted my hand in front of me face as if I hadn't noticed.

"There's no point in wearing it. Not only is Tony over one hundred years away, I am over him . . . for good. It is time to reclaim my dignity and move on," I sighed, smiling halfheartedly.

Erik reclined his head feigning interest in the scroll work on the ceiling."If only I had your wisdom and tenacity for moving forward quickly, than perhaps my life would be different. I too have suffered a heart so badly broken, that the thought of putting that aging muscle through such arduous paces again is simply not an option. Of course I needn't worry, there are not many women vying for this disfigured Don Juan's affections," he laughed bitterly.

My heart broke for him. This Christine must have really done a number on the man.

"Then it is their loss Monsieur. I for one like you very much in spite of your surly nature. You're actually kind, talented beyond comprehension, intelligent, and I adore your dry wit. You're attractive too whether you want to believe it or not," I replied with tenderness.

"Requirements for attractiveness in your century must have altered greatly from mine Mademoiselle, if you think me handsome," Erik scoffed gruffly.

"Oh stop being so self effacing," I scolded..

The clenching and unclenching of his hands told me it was time to change the subject.

"Hey, it's December twenty-first. The Roux's are going to Niece for the holidays to stay with their eldest son and his family. How do you spend Christmas Erik?"

"I don't," he retorted tersely.

"But why not, it's the most wonderful time of the year!"

"Remember Gabrielle, no prying into Erik's past," he warned.

"I'm not prying," I pouted. "It's just odd for someone not to decorate for the holidays and celebrate in some small way. In our home Christmas was for more than simply honoring the nativity, it was an event. In the Thomassen family we cooked, baked, ate, sang, bought, wrapped, decorated, visited and opened presents until we couldn't wiggle. I loved the colors and smells, sights and sounds of Christmas. I _really_ loved presents, not necessarily getting them, but giving them. The thrill of the hunt to find some little treasure a friend or loved one would be thrilled to receive was my all time favorite activity. Don't you enjoy presents Erik?"

"A present?" He uttered a bitter snort. "Never. Well, I suppose the fruit baskets and fine sheet paper I receive from the Roux's and my partner, Eugene, are the first and only gifts I have ever received. Did I enjoy the custom? I was appropriately appreciative, but the incidence made me uncomfortable."

Erik leaned forward; his impassive expression transformed in to one that was hard and unreadable.

"My relatives never saw fit to throw away presents on the devil's child. The only thing I ever received was a good backhand, a cursing or a new mask for my revolting juvenile visage. December 25th is just a number on a calendar, Gabrielle," Erik explained bitterly.

"I hate Christmas."

I uncurled my feet from under me, and fell back into the chaise. "Whoa, _you_ win the evil parent contest," I sighed softly.

"I really should hate it too. It was the day my mother chose to abandon her domestic domain. I was ten and Michael was eight when she announced that she had to go to the convenience store for some milk—I think she was making mashed potatoes. Mom never returned. Dad tried to pass it off, saying that her sister, our aunt Marjorie, was ill and needed Mom's help. I saw right through his ruse, but kept it on the down-low to spare my little brother. He still believed in Santa Clause. I can just imagine telling him, 'sorry kiddo, Santa brought you some cool toys but he took your mom' And she wasn't even depressed _that_ day!"

"Perhaps she had found one of your father's time-tears and is somewhere traveling in time herself. Did your father consider such an occurrence?" Erik offered.

"Yeah—right. A letter with no return address came three weeks later. Dad wouldn't let me read it. He only told me that mom needed a rest; she was in California with a friend and would be home eventually."

"my father raised it best he could considering his torturous work schedule—a mad scientists' work is never done you know. Neither one of his children turned out to be axe murderers or Amway salespeople; by the way, that's really _not_ a good thing. Michael manages a music store in downtown Chicago and I'm a 'pseudo celebrity' or was. I guess I'm MOI now. Gee, I wonder if Tony is still looking for me? Oh who gives a rat's patootie," I declared self-protectively.

Erik rose and walked to one of the library's massive windows and pushed aside a heavy velvet panel. The sun streamed in across the richly hued Persian rug.

"Monsieur Roux is correct, this is an unusually warm winter for France. Have no fear, Mother Nature will punish the flora and fauna soon enough," he observed with a small laugh.

"I've an idea Gabrielle; I believe we could ride comfortably today if we dress warmly. Horses do prefer a chilly day. The forest interests me when her trees are barren. I find beauty in their starkness. Would that please you Gabrielle? "

"Yes, brilliant suggestion!"

"Go quickly, dress. I'll meet you at the stables in fifteen minutes, hurry," he urged.

"Oui Monsieur, I curtseyed prettily and ran to my room to dig up some warm shirts, my button fly jeans, wool cloak, scarf and gloves."

- o -

Forty-one degrees, that's what the immense mercury thermometer on the kitchen stoop said, invigorating conditions for horseback ridding. I hurried toward the stables humming and skipping along the way.

Erik had already tacked up Anjalia and Dante, and was leading them out of the barn.

"Hey, thanks for doing that, I really don't mind lending a hand, you know."

"It is no bother. Here, Anjalia is ready for you," he said, handing over the reins. The Arabian mare nudged my shoulder expecting her usual treat from me. I scratched the mare on her forehead and drew the bit of sweet biscuit from my cloak. "Here you go ya scrounge," I said affectionately."

Okay, Dante, here's a goodie for you too. The magnificent black stallion was craning his neck towards me for his share.

"Gabrielle, these animals are finely disciplines beasts, you'll spoil them doing that," Erik scolded.

"A little spoiling does a body good. Why do you think you get dessert every night whether you request it or not? You always eat it too, " I reminded him.

He shot me a look of mock disapproval.

We mounted up and headed into the small paddock and out into a large field that stretched across three acres of Erik's land before it met with the forest. Living in nineteenth century France inspired me to rename the dense woods with a more fitting label for land belonging to the dark lord of DuPuis manor. I called it "Erik's forest of enchantment."

At first Erik led the way, but as we trotted deeper into the open meadow, it seemed silly for us not to ride in tandem.

The sky was a brilliant winter blue and the sun warmed us considerably. If not for the brown brittle grass and barren trees, the day would have made for a perfect springtime afternoon.

I breathed deeply savoring the fresh air. "It is so amazingly clean here. I know I am truly in another dimension of time when automobile exhaust, power lines and the sonic boom of jet planes aren't assaulting my senses. Ridding this beautiful mare with the breeze in my hair, I feel truly, blissfully."

"It is only in the solitude of my estate where I am able to indulge in what I once only imagined. I do not relish walking among the public in the daylight hours. This is the only place I dare expose myself to the sun."

"Why not Erik," I asked, naively.

"Must you ask?" My fine fellow Parisians are either exposed to my mask or worse yet, my handsome face. Too many curious stares and cruel comments for my taste, darling."

"I'm sorry Erik, I'm not used to people living in near exile because a few idiots can't deal with what they have no business prying into in the first place. It sucks that you feel you must hide."

I glanced at his face noting the soft white mask covering the right side. Whatever disfigurement the it concealed was costing Erik unimaginable sacrifice.

His mood was lighter than usual today, so I decided to dance delicately upon a curious aspect of his past.

"Now when I met you," I began, "We were there in the fifth cellar of the Paris Opera House, right?"

He nodded.

"I remember how there was an apartment of sorts. Did someone actually live there at one time?"

I turned in the saddle toward Erik and held my breath. I noticed the muscles in his jaw flexing and his eyes had changed a murky green.

"I am a composer, as you know Gabrielle and in my younger days I handled some artistic affairs at the opera. I found that residing below the catacombs of the facility provided not only the perfect hideout for a societal reject like me, but it also allowed me close proximity to the object of my inspiration. Simply put, I wrote better music being near my artistic domain."

"There was an unfortunate fire at the Opera House several years ago and I was forced to abandon my post for my current, provincial home. Every now and then when I cannot locate a precious piece of a composition, I return to the cellar and search for it there."

_A convincingly crafted half-truth Erik_, I smiled to myself.

"Perhaps it was kismet that I returned on the day of your untimely arrival, Gabrielle. I shudder to imagine what would have come of you had I not been there to assist you."

"Bad stuff I'm sure. Honestly Erik, I don't think there is a way for me to fully express my gratitude for your kindness. You come off as a dark, foreboding lord, bereft of pleasant emotion. But I suspect there is another Erik hidden below the scar tissue of your life."

I expected my prodding had gone too far, but Erik only raised his eyebrow at me and said, "You think too much Gabrielle."

He considered the sun, noticing it's fast decent toward the horizon. "We should return, lest we get chilled in the darkness." He urged Dante forward into a fast gallop towards the stables.

Not to be outdone by a man, I moved Anjalia into service, she was small and swift and I weighed considerable less than Erik. Catching them was easy..

Feeling frisky, I uttered the redneck "yee-haw" war hoop and urged the mare into a fierce gallop. We breezed past Erik and his mount, closing in rapidly on the stables.

Peeking over my shoulder, I saw Erik move into action, a bewildered frown on his face, probably thinking, _what is that crazy American doing now_?

Erik was still a few lengths behind when we reached the paddock I slowed Anjalia down to a trot so she could cool down.

"Damn it Gabrielle," he yelled, pulling up beside me "You could have been injured ridding so recklessly!"

He was pissed off, yet I couldn't help but laugh.

"Erik, you need not worry, I'm an excellent rider, I was in complete control of the mare, why do you think I wear jeans under my cloak when I ride? Anyway, you should have seen your face when I took off like a shot. Weren't expecting to be our ridden by a woman were you Monsieur?"

His scowl increased. "You are a maddening woman!" He dismounted and led Dante away in silence.

He'll get over it--eventually, I reasoned as I removed the tack from Anjalia. She pawed at the ground and snorted, anxious to get back to munching oats. I lead her to her stall and gave her a solid pat on the neck. _Thanks girl, you rocked_.

The adrenalin rush I 'd gotten from the sprint was ebbing. A hot bath and a glass of wine sounded like an excellent idea. I carried the tack to the room where it was stored, stepping around a large pile of straw heaped in the corner. The tack hooks, obviously hung my tall people, required I use a bucket to stand on. Not seeing one in the stall, I tried to jump and toss the bridle at one of the large hooks.

"Damn it," I cursed, missing twice.

Suddenly, an arm appeared over my left shoulder, effortlessly plucking the bridle from my hand and placing it on a hook. "Is this the object of your scorn my dear?"

Erik, I hadn't heard him enter the stall. I spun around so quickly that I lost my footing and fell into the roughly paneled wall, barely suppressing a scream.

He actually had the gall to laugh at me. Erik caught my fall with his left hand and placed his right hand on the wall above my head.

Ours eyes locked.

"My apologies Gabrielle, my intent was to assist you, not frighten you."

"Then why do you lurk about so, honestly, you scared the poodlie out of me, DuPuis!"

I'm not certain if it was the smile on his lips or the devilish gleam in his jade eyes that unnerved me most, but both of those things, combined with the smell of cedar, fresh hay, and body heat caused a chemical reaction somewhere in my cerebellum.

I licked my lips. "Erik I, uh, need to brush Anjl. . .my words were swallowed up by the pressure of a Erik's lips.

One kiss from this man and all logic took the bus to Neverland. I succumbed to him way too easily, wrapping my arms around his neck and allowing his tongue to flick at my lips and enter my mouth for a leisurely exploration. As the kisses became deeper and more frantic, I felt a familiar warm tingle awaken below my belly.

We were two lonely people desperate for connection. I broke contact long enough lay a trail of kisses from his left ear down his neck to the top of his starched collar.

This elicited an animalistic sound to rise from Erik's throat. He leaned into me and pushed my body against the wall.

"Gabrielle," he sighed roughly as I moved back to his delightful lips. As we consumed each other like starving children, he slid his groin against me.

This time I moaned. Erik was rock hard.

He pushed me into the mound of clean straw and, taking my face in his hands, looked at me. "Gabrielle, you are extraordinary, I've longed to taste you from the first week you came to live at my manor."

That voice, those gently hands, good-bye brains. All I could do was utter his name breathlessly. He took this as a silent invitation to lavish attention on my neck, mirroring the same motions that I had performed on him.

Urgent and somewhat rough, Erik slathered his hands over my body, feeling, squeezing and pulling at my clothes. His affections sent exquisite chills shuddering through me to my core. Something inside of me came undone. We were making out like I hadn't done since High School. Our kisses were hot, deep and sloppy.

I beg an to writhe against Erik and he responded by grinding his pelvis into mine. Our tongues danced to some secret, erotic rhythm. Unsure of where to rest his hands, he placed them first on my back, and then to my sides before finally lingering at the hem of my sweater. Eventually his slender fingers crept up to touch the row of buttons.

I knew from experience that this was a males prelude to wonderland.

When he finished navigating the five tiny pearl buttons, he pushed aside the material and lifted his lips from mine. He gawked slack jawed at the sight of my erect nipples staining against the sheer fabric of my sheer bra, absorbing every detail.

I arched my back, an invitation for touch. His left hand shook as he softly stroked a nipple. The contact sent a delectable ripple downward through me. I reached up to unhook the bra's small clasp, releasing my breasts from their constraints.

Erik showed his appreciation by cupping both breasts in his hands, massaging and squeezing them lightly as if he was unsure of what exactly he should do with them. "Dieu D'Oh," he muttered, mesmerized by his find.

"Gabrielle, you are exceptionally lovely," he sighed heavily. His eyes rose to meet mine. They were the color of tornadic storm clouds.

"Don't stop touching me Erik, I begged." He obliged by running the palm of his hand over my nipples in a slow, circular motion. It was maddening, my insides were melting.

Our feverish explorations intensified as we writhed in the straw, existing in a vacuum devoid of time and reason. Only sensation and desire remained.

My hand found it's way to Erik's crotch. Because touching a man for the first time made me shy, I hesitated, but then figured _what the hell_, _it's probably been a while since he's been touched there by someone other than himself. Consider it a pleasant public service. _I drew my index finger along his cloth covered cock where his glans should be.

This earned me a nip on my right nipple. "Vixen, he growled."

I rubbed him harder enjoying his appreciative gasps and moans. At the outline of his tip, a wet circle appeared. Monsieur DuPuis's body was preparing for action.

Erik locked his lips on mine and we resumed our passionate dance.

God, I wanted him.

Masculine hands found their way to the fly of my jeans. If I'd thought Erik wouldn't know how to navigate a pair of button flys, I was mistaken. He swiftly made haste of three brass buttons, allowing just enough space for him to wriggle his hand down between the material of my jeans and underwear. Fumbling around for some seconds, I felt his finger pause at the place that I knew must be drenched. He grunted and began sliding his fingers frantically over the spot.

"Um, oh, oh, Erik," I whimpered pushing up against his hand like a kitten begging to be pet..

Two long fingers found a leg opening and slipped under the fabric for further exploration.

I watched his face flash with wonder when he discovered the sensitive, wet flesh between my legs. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, moaning deeply upon contact.

"Yes, Erik, touch me, yes; I need it so badly. Sink those lovely long of yours fingers into me as far as you can, please, before I lose my mind!" I cried, driving him forward in his quest.

Erik felt around, fondling my sex until he parted my lips and plunged his fingers into my slick core. I moved my hips up and down for him, demonstrating what I liked.

We continued our exquisite agony for a few more minutes before he lifted my hand from the front of his trousers. The move perplexed me until I saw him ripping at the buttons of the wool ridding pants. "I _must_ have you," he declared with a feral growl, reaching into his fly for his cock..

He meant to have me right there in the barn in the straw.

And oh how I wanted him to have me. I couldn't allow it to happen. If we gave into our base passions, how would our relationship change? Men can be strange about sex. Once they've made their score, they often have second thoughts about you, becoming elusive, distant creatures.

Erik was my only lifeline right now. If I surrendered to passion, would I have to put out in order to stay at the manor? Would he grow distant or feel guilty and toss me out? I was torturing myself in so many ways right now.

"Erik…no," I pushed his hand away and stood up abruptly. I shook the straw from my hair and threw the heavy cloak back over my shoulders.

"I'm sorry, I just can't." I fled from the barn leaving Erik sitting in the stall, looking disheveled and stunned.

- ()-

_**Will Erik ever get some lovin? You'll have to continue reading to find out.**_

_**To my readers: Please take the time to send me a short review. **_

_**-Leesainthesky**_


	11. Ch 11 Sleeping Beast

**Author's note:** **Hey I need you! Submit your ideas of what sort of things from the 20th& 21st centuries Gabrielle should be missing. What do you think Erik would like to know about? I'll include some of these in upcoming chapters. You can include those in the reviews or email me at I'd love to know your thoughts**. -**Leesa**

_Some reviewers thought that Erik should be angry at Gabrielle's rejection. He should feel rejection, but also guilt for giving into his passions in a manor that would lead him to act dishonorably. He has some scruples towards women (when he isn't dealing with a rival). To answer the question of Erik being a skilled lover in spite of his inexperience: His books, a vivid imagination, and years of pondering the possibilities! _

_Kudos and cookies (fresh baked, of course), to all my worthy reviewers—do pass the word around about my Phanfic (if you see fit to). I could use a Beta if any one knows of one._

_OK. Let's do it…_

**Re-cap: Erik and Gabrielle get very frisky in the barn. She gets cold feet and bolts from the barn leaving Erik in a very bad state…**

**Ch 11- Sleeping Beast**

"_I'm sorry, I just can't." I left him there in the straw looking disheveled and stunned._

The Magic Teacup ride at Disney World would have left me less mixed-up than my reaction to Erik.

Between the guilt, emotional confusion and the sexual rush, I'd lost the capacity for cognitive function. Running blindly down the path, I slammed open the kitchen door so hard; it hit the outside of the house. I didn't stop moving until I'd run through the halls and up the staircase. The sound of my boot heels bounced off the upstairs walls. Finally I reached the bathing room, closed the door, and latched the little hook and eye.

Whew, a bath, I need a bath; it's what I do when I need to clear my head. For me, it is acathartic ritual.

I began running water and thanked whoever invented the water heater that hot water could sprint through the plumbing ofwell-heeled 1876 homeowners.

Steam rolled up from the deep tub dampening the fixtures. I poured a generous stream of lavender oil into the bath, undressed and eased my weary bones into the water. It stung, but I didn't care, perhaps I could sear away my guilt. I felt like a traitor.

Erik had done nothing more than scratch and itch that had been spreading like a slow rash between the two of us for some weeks now. My unyielding response to him in the barn had led him to believe he could have me.

Why did I let things go so far? Here was a man who had suffered the humiliation of rejection most of his days and in one singular act of insecurity I had taken another chip off of his already fragile ego.

_What a splendid way to treat someone who has always treated you with fairness. Why Erik even believes your cockamamie story about time traveling, yet he has asked little from you._

Did I _want_ Erik? Was Napoleon French?And it was more than simple physical attraction too. Since June I had come to care about him for assorted reasons; there were no pretenses or games with M.Dupuis. He either tolerated you or he didn't; even fewer people pleased him. Above all, I found him to be the most electrifying and sensual being I had encountered in any century.

But what was I to him; a curiosity, a cook, a warm and possibly willing body for alonely and frustrated man?

That was the rub; so to speak, Erik mattered too much for me to jeopardize our current relationship for a quick, hot, roll in the hay.

We were from all together different worlds. What obstacles would we encounter if we did succumb to our desires? Did Erik even want more than a friend-with-benefits? These are questions that I did not have answers to, but their answers were detrimental to my sanity.

I didn't even know him, not really. _Enigma man_ was my private moniker for Erik Thoughts of him were competing for space in my brain and winning. Was I becoming obsessed with him because of my seclusion, or was I truly interested in this man?

Obviously Erik is a man of intense passions, anyone who heard his music would never repute that. His genius and talent were irrefutable. He was clever and intelligent and amusing and I was desperately attracted to him.

Yet he could be gruff and unyielding. I could only imagine what wrath would be unleashed upon an unlucky recipient who crossed his path.

The thought of seeing his ravaged face never disturbed me. So what if his right side _did_ match Leroux's description? His disfigurement only accounted for roughly one eight of his physical self. If one were to consider the entire man, it would be considerable less an amount.

I sunk my entire body under the water, thoroughly saturating my hair. Using what little of my Paul Mitchell that remained, I washed and rinsed my massive mane and pulled the cork on the drain. If only my confusion could swirl away as gracefully as those suds.

What next?_ Well Scarlet, why don't you think about it tomorrow, after all, tomorrow is another day. How am I going to articulate properly when I run out of fresh movie lines? _

I wrapped the cotton bath sheet around my long mop of auburn hair and snatched my flannel robe from the hook on the back of the door. The lock popped out quietly, which I was grateful for. No one was lurking in the hall. Erik was in his music room giving the grand piano hell. Volatile notes rose up from the first floor music room, spilling into the hallway. The music swelled and ebbed like a typhoon crashing onto the shore. His fingers struck the piano's keys with the fierce intensity of enraged release.

_The Phantom of the Opera is alive and well in this house tonight_.

_I'd do best just to slink off to bed_, I thought wisely.

In spite of the music's considerable volume, I crept down the hall to my bedroom, opening and shutting the door as silently as the creaky old hinges would allow.

Mission accomplished.

I sat at the vanity and stared at my image. _Dark circles,_ _whoa- you need rest and good cosmetics girl._

As I began to work on my tangled hair, a little monster in my belly made itself known by grumbling loudly. Oh yeah, food, I hadn't eaten since two this afternoon.

_Woman cannot live on angst alone Gabrielle_, I chided myself._ If I ignore it, it'll go away._

I made my way to the bed and crawled in. The Edgar Allen Poe collection was still on my bed table, so I picked up the book and turned up the lamp.

I was in the middle of the Tell Tale Heart, a gruesomely interesting story about, eyeballs, mad men and dead hearts beating—the perfect narrative for my state of mind. Three more pages later, the monster in my belly growled louder. Erik had stopped playing. Maybe he had gone to bed and I could safely sneak to the kitchen for some sustenance.

_OK Seymour_, I spoke to my belly, I'll feed you. I tossed Poe aside for another time and began my stealthy slink downstairs for a snack.

As I moved along the dark main hall, I noted that the heavy wood paneled doors of the library were open and the interior was dark. Proceeding farther down the wide marble corridor, I approached the music room. The door was closed and no light or sound emitted from it. Awesome. I had a clear shot through the dining room and into the kitchen where a Charlotte Russe waited in the icebox with my name on it.

Once in the food storage area, I drew a small candle from my pocket, lit it and proceeded to fill a basket with goodies.

After procuring the sweet, a leftover half bottle of wine and a croissant with a bit of brie (too bad they didn't have microwave ovens in 1876), I headed back upstairs.

The charlotte Russe looked too good to wait for so I stuck my index finger in and dug up a dollop of the rich Chantilly cream.

Dupuis Manor had settled into stillness that I found unusually eerie. Once again I drew near the music room. Was the door open or shut when I passed by it earlier? Damn, I don't remember. It was open now and that didn't feel right. I was absentmindedly sucking the cream from my finger when I heard him.

"Gabrielle."

It was not an inquiry, but a demand, punctuated by the dramatic way he extended the last two syllables of my name.

I jumped like a sheep in a room full of farm boys. This graceful movement caused me to fling Chantilly cream on my face.

"Geeze Louise Erik, must you be so creepy?" I shrieked.

"Come here, I'd like a word with you," his disembodied voice commanded.

_Oh man, I just know he's going to get medieval on me_. I actually began to tremble.

"Um Erik, I'm really tired and hungry. I thought I'd have a bite to eat and retire for the evening if it's alright with you."

"No, it is not alright with me." His tone was clipped and curt.

"Since you are currently in _my _employ I suggest you answer when I speak to you. Do I make myself clear Madame?"

I sighed and entered the music room. From the scant moonlight filtering in from the window by the piano, I saw Erik's silhouette.

"Come closer," he demanded gruffly.

"You're not planning to do me any harm are you?" _Stupid question Gab, I'm sure he wouldn't tell you if he were. _

"You believe me to be a unbearably horrific monster don't you Gabrielle?"

"No. That's simply not true. I don't believe you to be anything of the sort," I replied evenly.

Erik was barely discernable in the shadows, but I sensed, rather than heard his movement. He was within inches of his me now.

"Ah, but I may well be my dear lady. You've no idea of my capacity for horror. My face alone holds the power to prompt most women and men to flee in terror. My own mother's maternal instincts were permanently snuffed out when she first laid eyes on me. I can only imagine that the idea ofcoupling with my loathsome carcass caused you to bolt from my arms this very afternoon Gabrielle."

_A flash of our sweaty naked bodies teased at my mind._

"No, your face has absolutely nothing to do with why…"

He cut me off brusquely, "Tell me darling, why be so warm and willing to my attentions one moment then flee from me the next?"

"I was confused, OK? You and I have been what one might describe as flirty on occasion, and I know you are a warm blooded Frenchman, but I had no idea that you desired me as much as I…Erik, look, my emotions were arguing with my logic. Yes, you are correct, you frighten me immeasurably."

He narrowed his eyes and glowered at me, appearing as if to pounce. I gulped in a hard breath, shored up my courage and continued, "Stop jumping to conclusions. Do you want to know the true reason I am so frightened of you Erik? I guarantee it is not what you are imagining. It is my reaction to you. That is what frightens me.

"Today in the barn—no, do not turn away from me—you wanted to know, isn't that why you summoned me in here? Today, I was surprised with, and overcome by, my desire.

"Since that day in June when I appeared in your cellar, you and I have slowly become more familiar with one another. We are of the same mind in many matters, often sharing the same ideals. I relish how we both find true beauty in art and music, plus we both detest supercilious ignorance. Our staggering personal losses also bond us together empathetically. And yes Erik DuPuis, I believe that you may, ever so slightly, consider me to be a friend."

He continued to eye me suspiciously.

"Curiosity is natural between two people of the opposite sex who like each other and live within the same walls as we do. So was I surprised at your physical advances today? You bet your bootie I was darlin'! I had no idea you thought of me in such a way. I mean, you've always been the perfect gentleman."

"Perhaps it's been a while since you have gotten some—sex that is. You might have been thinking; _poor, lonely, lost Gabrielle, a soiled woman from a progressively age where all of the women are hot and cold running loose_. As sexually open as the French are, compared to Americans, I still doubt your women are as wanton as my contemporary sisters must seem. What a primo opportunity for you Erik!"

"How dare you assume anything on my part Gabrie…" he began to protest loudly.

I held up a hand to stop him, "Listen to all I have to say before you make a rash judgment. My fear in giving myself to you is that if I do, you will earn a part of my soul and my heart, and perhaps I yours for that matter. Are you up to the responsibility? After the number Tony did on me, well, I am hesitant to open up to anyone, particularly a man who remains vastly unknown to me."

He began pacing back and forth, slamming his fist into his hand repeatedly.

"Erik— please stop pacing, and don't be so cross with me— especially because…" I glanced at my feet.

"Because you what?" He spat.

"Hey now, this is difficult enough for me without your intimidation tactics!"

"Madame," he motioned grandly for me to proceed.

"Because I adore you in so many ways, that's what damn it! If I turn a blind eye to logic and allow you to take what you want, what do I get in return? Do I earn your respect and affection, or your contempt and indifference? If you truly want me, you will have to make promises you may not be willing to keep. Not that I'm inferring you want to. Of course my particular circumstances would hamper any sort of serious attachment anyway."

Erik remained stoically silent. I was relieved that he was finally listening to me. I just prayed that was hearing as well.

"Erik," I soothed, cocking my head sideways in deference, I have _never, ever_ considered you to be a monster. If we had met in 2005, even with the distractions of my insanely demanding professional life, our friendship would be a priority. But I digress; I'll wrap up this chatter now. I am deeply, deeply sorry if I alluded to something that I was not prepared to deliver. Leading you on wasnot my intention today.I got caught up in the moment. You can be quite charismatic Monsieur. Yes, that's the perfect word for you as far as I'm concerned."

I could see his eyebrow rise in surprise at my admission.

"Look, if you can no loner stand the sight of me in your house, tell me. I can find other viable means of survival. I am a savvy survivor no matter where I am, or _when_ I am for that matter."

Erik walked to the piano, sat on the bench and lit some of the candles he favored so much. Soft notes drifted from the instrument as he depressed the ivory keys. He appeared to be mulling something over.

I felt beyond awkward simply standing mute in the middle of the music room. I turned to leave.

"Come here Gabrielle," this time it was spoken as a request, not a demand.

I approached the piano bench cautiously. He peered up at me quizzically, and then reached up to wipe something off of my face.

"Did you forget to remove all of your cleansing cream before bed Madame?"

"Huh? Oh that, Charlotte Russe. I motioned to the basket. I was having a late night snack when you scared the poodelie out of me."

"Walking and eating, so lady-like Gabrielle."

"Do not start with me Erik, charm school is closed for the night."

In that instant, an amazing thing happened to Erik, ever so slightly, at the corners of his lips I detected a genuine smile.

"Are we alright Erik?" I asked tentatively.

"Sweet Gabrielle, we are fine if you can ever forgive me for being a carnal beast this afternoon. I had not set out with designs on your womanhood, but the day was so sublime and your vigor and charm so intoxicating that I forgot myself. It's been years since Erik allowed himself the luxury of passion. It has stayed locked it up in the attic of my memory, that is, until you appeared in my cellar and came here to serve me."

"Then the sleeping beast awoke."

Silence claimed him once more as Erik picked up a crystal scorpion that held down a stack of music on the piano. He began rubbing the object's smooth edges between his fingers.

"Can you ever forgive me for violating your trust and your virtue Gabrielle? I am most ashamed of not controlling my urges."

He slammed the scorpion back on top of the scores and lowered his head into his hands.

"Why do I murder all that is good? The only woman I ever allowed into my heart charged me with that very crime years ago."

He looked at me with tears in his eyes. "Why, what is _wrong_ with me Gabrielle?"

I hurried around to the open side of the piano bench and sat next to him. "Hey Erik, you don't murder all that's good and you are not a monster—got it?" I put one arm around him and stroked his hair.

"Look at me."

"I cannot."

"Why not? I'm not going to bite you Erik, you do lots of good stuff, like taking in my sorry ass, you employ those two old codgers who are nearly too ancient to wiggle. People clamor to have your firm design their buildings, plus you can paint, sculpt, and work magic. Don't get me started on your kickin' music and your voice; well it's nearly better than…never mind. See, if you just sang to me, who knows where it would get you."

This remark earned me a steely glare.

"Levity Erik, levity."

He nodded and relaxed.

I started to play a simple child's tune on the piano.

"In six months, I've never thought to ask, do you play Gabrielle?"

"Heavens no, I learned some simple songs by ear. Chopsticks, Heart and Soul, a song from 1970 called Color My World, and the theme from Sponge Bob Square Pants; that's a child's cartoon comic show. But my Dad taught me how to play guitar a little. I'm not great, but I do ok. I sure do miss my acoustic Martin. I play mostly what you would call folk songs or ballads; you've heard some of the type on my IPOD. Jewell, Sarah McLachlan, Sheryl Crow, Beatles and angsty acoustic stuff if I'm in a good bleak mood. That's really all my voice is up to. Sorry, no opera diva here.

_Yarf, did I actually say that to him?_

He eyed me warily.

"That's what all female singers aspire to be today isn't it?" I back peddled.

"Oh, yes, of course and ballerinas too."

"I yawned widely. I am so sorry. A tornado could hit this place right now and I wouldn't know about it I'm so flipping tired."

"Then go to bed young Gabrielle, you need your rest."

"And Gabrielle?"

"Yes Erik?"

"I am truly sorry."

"Me too."

"Good night my dear."

_Whew_, I thought as I mounted the stairs_, another bullet dodged. Being bounced on my butt for the holidays was not a festive thought. _

**_Christmas and a new year are coming. What new adventures are in store for our amusingly odd couple? Please keep reading and reviewing, especially the reviews even if it's a quickie. - Leesainthesky_ **


	12. Ch 12 Merriment, Monkeys and Madmen

**_Author's note: I would like your opinion. I want to know what you think Gabrielle would be missing from the 21st century and what you think Erik would want to know more about from that time. I'll include some of your feedback in the story (you'll get credit too if I use your feedback). Drop thoughts in your reviews or email. Mad props to Alda, Anna, Petie, littledaae, and Lady Assasin Moonbeam for reviewing me — if I left you out there, opps! Thanks for all of your reviews. _**

_**This is a short one. More lovin' comin'**_

**Ch 12 – Merriment, Monkeys and Madmen**

Madame Roux insisted on making one last trip into Paris before she and Henri departed for Christmas. Marie could not bear the thought of leaving Erik and I alone without proper provisions. Of course we had plenty to sustain us until they returned from their visit with Patrick and his family in Niece.

I begged Marie to let me tag along on her shopping trip. It was December 22nd but the only hints of Christmas at the manor were a small pine tree I had smuggled into my bedroom and some holly and ribbon wreaths Marie had managed to adorn the mantles and front entrance of the mansion with.

I understood that no amount of prodding and pleading would change Erik's feelings about the holidays, but I had a right to observe it in some small way. I devised a plan to make the day unobtrusively pleasant for we two wayward outsiders.

Christmas dinner would be superb, yet simple. I also planned to purchase a present for Erik. Simple gratitude wasn't my only aim; I wanted him to have something special to open.

Marie allowed me to accompany her to market. I had my list; fresh fruits, fine chocolates; ingredients for Christmas dinner, and anything else that struck my fancy. In the music room there was a large curio that held a small collection of figurines and music boxes—the most ornate one being a paper mache' monkey wearing a turban. I had spied several of theses exquisite boxes at Madame DeVries boutique on the Rue du Parc Royal the last time I went to market.

Henri drove the brougham through the holiday crush, finally making it to the main shopping area near the Champs Elysees. He helped us out of the carriage, climbed back aboard the driver's seat, lit his pipe and maneuvered his way through the crowded street toward the livery stables.

"We must make haste," Mdm. Roux reminded me, "Henri and I plan our departure for the train station early tomorrow. I have much packing still to do—presents and such," she qualified lest I think her unorganized.

The weather had decided to be winter after all. Downey flakes of snow flitted around us softly, melting on the still warm Parisian streets. The atmosphere was magical. People called noel to one another, carolers sung of joy and bright colors accented the otherwise monochromatic winter day.

"Let's first go to the green grocer. I want to be certain you have enough to get through the next ten days," Marie said.

"Marie, I shopped last week, we only need fresh foods enough for the next few days. Erik and I don't consume much and I wouldn't want anything to spoil."

"Nonsense girl. I'll not have you get snowed in with nothing to eat. It is best to be prudent. If there is an over abundance, simply place the perishables outside in the cold dear," She counseled.

"Of course Marie," why argue?

It took no time to round up what we both needed. The majority of the time Marie spent catching up on life with Mdm. Adelle, the grocer's wife.

Eventually we were back on main Blvd. Heading for a row of boutiques. Marie wished to buy something frivolous and feminine for her only daughter, Caron.

I suggested we stop at Mdm. DeVries, a tony gift emporium in the section. The picture window of her sumptuous boutique was decorated in fine style. Porcelain dolls, wind-up mechanical toys, trains, and music boxes adorned with shiny ribbons beckoned us from the street.

Peering through the window, my eyes lit on the boutique's extraordinary display of music boxes and figures. Bells tinkled merrily when we entered. The delicious scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafted throughout the little store as procrastinating parents and husbands made frantic last minute purchases for their children, wives or mistresses.

Marie spied a small jewelry box with the figure of a petite bluebird inside a glided cage. She went to check it out as a possible gift for Caron. I jostled my way through the shoppers and gawkers to the shelf where my sat. On the far wall was a shelf displaying Meissen masterpieces from Germany. There were several exquisite music boxes and figurines, some of which Erik already owned.

I selected my choice from the shelf and carried it to the clerk. Mdm. Roux had decided to purchase the musical jewelry box for her daughter. She was completing her transaction when I walked up to the counter.

"A lady can never have too many elegant places to store her jewels, and Caron is married to a man who can lavish such treasures upon her." This was a reassurance more than a boast. Marie was pleased that her daughter did not need to scrimp for every necessity and nicety as she and Henri had done in their early years.

Marie took notice of the treasure in my hands. At first she made no comment, but I could tell curiosity was killing her.

"Do you think he'll like it?" I said holding up the curious box of figurines so she could get a better look at it.

"Who will like it dear?"

"Erik, of course."

"Oh! Yes, of course, Monsieur DuPuis. He does enjoy his collection of musical eccentricities.

Peculiar little figures—they're monkeys are they not?"

"Oh yes, Erik has a thing about primates," I shrugged. "It's an antique Meissen monkey musician band circa 1750. I think it's fun. Erik's collections are like his toys. I often catch him playing with them."

"Gabrielle, it must be quite expensive, how can you afford to be so extravagant?"

"I save my earnings Madame, not much to spend it on since my room and board are paid for and Erik usually furnishes my garments for me," I answered.

The astonished look on her face told me furnishing a lady's personal wardrobe was not standard provision for a man in Erik's position. _Opps, hello foot, meet mouth._

I thought of explaining the time-travel incident to Marie so she could better understand my relationship with our employer, but the idea of Erik and I sharing adjoining rubber rooms didn't sound appealing.

Marie touched my shoulder lightly and nodded her approval, "He should be pleased Gabrielle. Erik has few friends and no family. He's been on his own since her was too young. My sister looked after him for a time. He was in love with a very beautiful girl once, but it was not to be. Since that time, he has remained a confirmed bachelor. I fear he will be for the rest of his life. It would take a special sort of woman to tame him, you know."

When someone gives you one of those Mona Lisa smiles, as Marie just did, it typically carries with implications. I didn't dare tell her that I had learned from a music history class that the famous composer had indeed been married and sired a few children in his lifetime.

"Shall I wrap this for you Madame?" asked the fellow behind the counter.

"Please monsieur; wrap it in the gold tissue for me if you would, it's for a gentleman," I requested.

I watched while the man boxed up the treasure, folding shiny gold tissue around it and tying it up with a length of silver ribbon.

I was both excited and terrified. "Well Marie, he's either going to be extremely surprised or annoyed by this gift, you never know about Erik. He digests the good intentions of others differently than most people."

"I suppose that he knows no better Gabrielle. Erik is extremely intelligent and well read, yes, but he lacks the sort of experience one gains from living among the human race," An expression of sadness showed on her face.

A vast number of customers lined up behind us waiting to make their purchases. Marie and I quickly departed the boutique and made our way out onto the crowded Rue du Parc.

"It's nearly time to meet up with Monsieur Roux isn't it Marie?" I asked.

"Yes, and I seem to have all that I need now. Let's proceed back to the livery stables.

Going back to the manor and crawling into the warm, soft down covers of my bed was all that I wanted in the world right now. Between missing my family madly and the emotional aerobics with Erik, I was exhausted.

The brougham was ready for us when Marie and I reached the livery.

"Well my lovely ladies, I see you have made many a shop keeper most happy today," Henri teased cheerfully, noting the mound of packages we had heaped in our arms.

Henri loaded our parcels into the luggage compartment of the carriage, and then assisted as Marie and I climbed aboard for the ride home.

The winter sun cast an orangey sky over Paris. I loved the way it outlined the naked trees and smoky chimneys of the city. It was times like this when I nearly felt alive and well regardless of the restrictions of the 19th century.

Paris was only moments behind us when Mdm. Roux asked me about my home. It was the first time she had ever engaged me in a personal conversation.

"Gabrielle, do you ever miss your American home?"

_You have no idea_. "Yes, I miss my family very much, and of course my husband. Losing a mate is a different sort of grief; its wounds are slow to heal," I added remembering the ruse Erik had concocted for me.

I wasn't too far off the mark in saying this to Marie. Losing a mother and a lover was hard on my emotions. I caught Dr. Phil on Opra one afternoon. The good Doctor was pontificating on how untimely departures can feel like dealing with death (well, there was a time when I _did_ want to kill Tony, figuratively, of course).

"Do you think you may marry again Gabrielle, that is when you have finished your grieving period?"

It's been over a year since the death of my husband; I am ready to move on. Will I marry again? Oh Marie, I sighed, what decent French man would take a second look at me?"

First you must meet them before you can be wary of them. You are like M.DuPuis in that you seldom socialize. Certain suitors are closer to where we live than you may realize dear.

_She was speaking to me in secret code again. _

"Perhaps my Caron should come to visit us for a few weeks. She is desperately lonely without her husband away and I know she misses France. You two would get on splendidly. Yes, I shall suggest it to her over Christmas. Henri will be so pleased to have his little girl for more than a fleeting holiday visit."

I jumped at the chance to get hang out with another woman close to my age, "Please do, I'd love to meet your daughter Marie."

I was pretty sure Caron could teach me more about being a Victorian era women than Erik could. I wondered what sort of titling fun we could have—parlor games perhaps? I bet I could teach Caron a few things too. I smiled inwardly.

"You must be lonely too dear," Marie observed. "Coming to live in an unknown County must be difficult. How is life at the manor for you Gabrielle?

"It's beautiful—restful. Erik is kind to me and you and M. Roux have been so patient." I folded my hands and looked at her. "Madame Roux, I know I'm an odd bird. I suppose it's simple American brashness. I was raised to be an independent woman. My father used to say that I was his free spirit. Making my own rules as I went along. You don't think that's all bad do you?"

"No child, not always. Sometimes it is good to have fire as long as you are not careless with it." She paused and leaned forward on the bench, "Gabrielle when you came to us, I was harsh with you. I misjudged your character. Please accept my most humble apology."

"Thanks Marie, but don't sweat it."

"I am not sweating. Ladies do not sweat Gabrielle. I don't…"

I waved her off, "I'm sorry Marie, American slang. What I meant to have said is that I accept your gracious apology Madame."

By god, a warm smile cracked her lips for the first time in six months.

We reached DuPuis manor after sunset. The brougham rattled up the long rutted driveway that led to the stables. The only visible light was of the gas lanterns from the stables. No telling where Erik was holed up.

"Do you think M. DuPuis is even home Marie? The house is terribly dark. I don't even see light from the music room window."

"Perhaps he's in his room on the other side of the house, or in his secret chamber below the house."

"Secret chamber? Marie, that's the first I've heard of such a thing. What is it?"

My interest was piqued by another mysterious detail of Erik's existence.

Marie looked startled, "Oh my, I thought he would have told _you_. I…I should not be divulging such secrets; it is not my place Gabrielle," she turned from me.

Oh c'mon Marie, like, who am I going to tell? You just said that there is such a place. Now you _have_ to tell me more. It's like a woman's oath or something."

"Well," she began in a hushed tone as if Erik had his ear to the carriage. It is the cellar really. We are forbidden ever to enter, but he spends a lot of time there, mostly in the summer months when the heat becomes unbearable, or when he becomes…reflective."

"Ah," I nodded in understanding. "It was summer when I arrived at the manor. Erik would disappear for days, yet his horses would remain in the stable. I never saw or heard him come or go. That probably explains why."

"He has the makeup of a mad man within him Gabrielle, although I have seen it only once since Henri and I came under his employ five years ago. He will become very cross with the both of us if he knew I have mentioned this. You must _never_ speak of it."

"Tick-a-lock Marie," I made a locking gesture at my mouth. "I am nothing if not trustworthy," I reassured her.

_So Erik has a hidden room below his house. I wonder what's up with that?_

_**Thank for lurking, smiles for reviewing. Drop me a comment even if it's a short one. And let me know what you think Gabrielle misses and what Erik would be interested in. You rock! **_

_**- Leesa**_


	13. Ch 13 de Joyeux Noël

Hi. If you just climbed aboard, welcome to my little fan fic. Thanks for all of your great feed back. I will try to work in what I can where I can. Thanks Alda, Pertie and Littledaae for your creative and fun ideas, and yeah, I agree, I'd sure miss the feminine products (yarf). I'd thought about Christmas songs before too. There's a funny one here. Your ideas and feedback are always welcome, appreciated, needed …

_**AUTHOR'S WARNING: The first paragraph is rated Mature, so if you have problems with such content, kindly skip it.**_

Ch 13 - de Joyeux Noël

_**Re-cap:** Gabrielle buys Erik a Christmas present and finds out about his secret room beneath the manor house_

The right side of the bed depressed. Cool air hit my backside as the covers were pulled from my body. I was straddled from behind. What the…? Erik. He leaned forward and began to tease me with his tongue; issuing maddeningly light, quick, licks to my neck. He made a growl of animalistic desire and bit me. The pleasure-filled pain turned my shock into surrender. I responded to his intrusion by moaning and spreading my legs. Erik grabbed my hips and yanked me to my knees. In one stroke he was inside of me thrusting wildly. I matched his movements, and reached down to pleasure myself. I came hard. The sensation sent Erik over the cliff causing him to scream my name when he pumped his release into me.

"_Merry Christmas Gabrielle," _he whispered.

Huh? I bolted up in bed. The sheets and coverlet had been pushed to the end of the bed and I was slick with sweat. It was Christmas morning.

_Which one of Ebenezer's Christmas Ghosts was that, _I wondered incredulously?

Vivid dreams have a habit of wearing themselves on me for a few days before they retreat into my subconscious mind. The essence of the dream mingles with reality, which has the power to temporarily alter the way I view those present in my nocturnal head plays.

Of course I knew that Erik had not gifted me with his body, but I felt as if he could have; therefore I spent most of the day avoiding him. Something as simple as eye contact or hearing him utter a greeting could cause me to blush like crazy or rip his clothes off.

Neither reaction would have been cool.

It was Christmas Day and I had lots of work to do in the kitchen preparing for the evening meal. Just because M. Dupuis did not celebrate holiday traditions did not mean that I couldn't.

We were going to have a sumptuous, yet simple meal: _Fougasse, Potage Malouin, Cailles à la Vigneronne and Pain d'epices._

Banishing images of the Thomassen family from my mind proved to be impossible, so I did what I could to keep my mind occupied. Anjalia, Dante and the rest of the horses and barn cats deserved a Christmas treat. I loaded several sweet, crunchy apples in a basket for the horses. I had also noticed there was some left over pate threatening to spoil—a perfect delicacy for the cats. I wrapped up warmly in my winter cloak and headed to the stables.

Once inside the barn, I heard a cacophony of animal voices. The normally reclusive barn cats mewed and rubbed around my legs. I heard Dante and Anjalia whinny loudly from the end stalls.

"You big babies, hold your…people? I'm coming," I called. I put the pate down for the eager felines then made my way to the horses. After much cooing and rubbing, I fed them their Christmas treats, which they munched greedily. When Dante had finished his, he thought he would try my shoulder. I scolded the majestic black stallion for being a naughty horsy, scratched each one again, then headed back to the house where the rest of the day waited to be organized.

The better part of an hour was spent standing at the large butcher's block in the kitchen slicing and dicing, peeling and cutting, stuffing and mixing in preparation for Christmas dinner. I could make out the dull thud of an axe from outside. Erik must be cutting firewood. I peered out the kitchen window and took note of the low, gray snow clouds; Mother Nature had indeed decided to turn down the thermostat on the French countryside. Erik was wearing a heavy wool coat, work gloves and a scarf. Seeing M.Dupuis in casual attire was a rarity. I found his alternate mode of dress ruggedly appealing.

Erik wasn't merely cutting the wood; he was slaughter it. I watched him hammer down mercilessly on the offending logs with a look of ferocious determination on the left side of his face. Just blowing off steam, I surmised. Maybe he'd had the same dream as me. _Lord help me if he had. _

I finished my prep work and headed back upstairs to freshen up. I grabbed the Poe book from my room, ran my bath and settled into the tub for a relaxing soak.

A loud rap on the door startled me. "Gabrielle, have you drowned in there woman?" Erik's voice bellowed from the other side of the door.

Poe splashed into the water, "Oh Shit," I must have dozed off because the water had grown cool.

"Apparently not, I heard an expletive. I would appreciate a bath myself if you have not helped yourself to all of my hot water again."

"Ok, I'll be right out, just hold on to your gonads!" I unplugged the tub and wrapped up in a large bath sheet. My robe was missing.

"Oh boogers, I forgot my robe. "Erik," I called, "would you be a dear and fetch my robe for me? I left it on my bed by accident."

The only answer I received was a huff and the sound of him walking down the hall toward my bedroom.

Ten minutes later Erik returned with my robe. _What was taking Mr. Happy so long?_

"Madame?" was all he said through the door. I opened it up a crack and took the flannel garment from his outstretched hand.

"Thanks I don't know where my mind is today," I apologized.

He laughed, "Certainly dear, it is my pleasure to serve. But please do vacate the premises soon. I must bathe. I smell like a street peddler."

I emerged promptly, smiling at him sweetly, "it's all yours Monsieur, I even rinsed the out the tub for you."

"How thoughtful Gabrielle," he chuckled as he closed the door

What's gotten into him? I wondered. He's suddenly gotten cheerful. "Weird", I muttered on the way to my room.

What do I have to wear that's even slightly Christmassy? I scanned my meager wardrobe. There was a deep red silk gown with velvet roses embroidered on the bodice. It was more of a spring dress but it would have to do. I pulled it out and placed it on the bed. That's when I saw my journal. I had left it out and open for prying eyes.

Is that why it had taken Erik ten minutes to retrieve my robe? He was a man of honor; he wouldn't dare invade my privacy…would he?

_It ain't private if it's just sitting there Gabrielle_, my mother used to say after I discovered she has been reading my diary when I was a little girl.

Damn, damn, damn. What incriminations had I written on the two open pages?

"_Dec. 24th, 1976 & 2005. It's Christmas Eve in my new life and I am mostly alone in this dinosaur of a house. The quietness is deafening. I will not succumb to despair. What would that accomplish? Depression? Not going there, I can't allow it. Bah humbug. I want to go home! (I would, however, miss E.D. desperately). Erik does not celebrate for viable reasons. Maybe I can cheer him up. I have a lovely dinner planned with some of his favorites. It' not much, I just hope doesn't become ticked off at me for trying to celebrate a little — one never knows what will offend the Frenchman. Maybe I can give Erik his first pleasant holiday memory even if mine is not so swell." - GT_

Please oh please oh please do not have read this Erik. I don't want my cheeks to match my cranberry colored dress tonight. Why would knowing that Erik had read this embarrass me so; because I cared about his happiness? Perhaps he's right, I do think too much.

Across the room the little Charlie Brown tree stood decorated. I'd hung silver tinsel, and tied red bows on it. A tiny angel I had found in a Parisian shop graced the top, Gabriel, the messenger of good tidings. Erik's gift was beneath. Had it been moved? It looked like it had. He wouldn't shake it would he? No, Erik wouldn't get that part about Christmas presents. My mind was playing tricks on me. Later tonight I would move all of all this festive paraphernalia downstairs to the salon.

I brushed out my hair and dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Erik would complain that he felt as if there were a cowboy in his home, not a woman when I dressed this way. I didn't care, the Roux's would be gone for a week and I wanted to be comfortable.

I stuck my head out into the hall. Good, Erik was still bathing. I could get the tree and the present downstairs without his knowledge.

The small pine tree was prickly, but light. I carried it down the staircase, careful not to lose needles or tinsel along the way. Once in the salon, I found a new home for it on a marble table, which sat between two white velvet settees. This room was seldom used so I was sure I could keep the secret until after dinner. The golden package with the music box inside looked lonely and un-proportioned under the tree, but it would have to do. I had also knitted a Christmas a stocking for Erik, with his name on it. This I filled with gourmet chocolates dressed in festive tinfoil. Two-dozen fragrant frankincense and spice candles purchased while I was in Paris would complete the holiday ambiance.

I was apprehensive. I didn't wish to change Erik's mind about the holiday. I merely wanted to share with him what little of my real world I could.

Floorboards creaked above me. Erik was moving about upstairs. Swiftly I skittered into the dining room. I needed to get a move on. Dinner was to be served in an hour and one half. I moved to the kitchen and lit the gas stove.

I went about setting up the table. Erik's taste in everything from clothes to china was sublime. In his sideboard was a beautiful set of Limoges fine china and Baccaret crystal. _Nice stuff, what if I dropped it? Lordy Gabrielle, don't even go there girl!_

The windows in the large French country kitchen were steamed up with the heat from the oven. I put the entrée in the oven and washed up the prep dishes while humming Christmas songs to myself. The repartee ranged from classic hymns to silly novelty songs.

I was kicking it with a touching rendition of that classic carol; _Grandma got run over by a Reindeer._ I had always loathed the song, but it's one of those tunes that get lodged in your head like a bad cold.

I was belting out the last verse, "_They should never give a license, to a man who drives a sleigh and plays with elves," _when I felt someone watching me

Peeking over my right shoulder, I spied Erik. He was leaning on the doorframe between the dining room and the kitchen. His arms were crossed and he wore a look of consternation.

"Hey there!" I said brightly.

"Good lord! I was certain chickens were being murdered in here. Have Handle and Wesley been replaced by Barnum and Bailey?"

I snickered and tried not to look embarrassed.

"Awful isn't it? Stupid novelty songs are a guilty pleasure of mine. The radio stations I've told you about play them non-stop during the season," I explained.

Erik shook his head, "Then the future is indeed grim."

"Dinner will be served in thirty minutes Erik," I added.

He was already dressed impeccably in a black wool crepe suit, tailored perfectly to fit his impressive form. Beneath the topcoat he wore a golden brocade waist coast and his signature black silk cravat. Even with the white Kidd mask hiding part of his face, Erik was breathtaking.

"Shoo, I flapped my hands at him, you may return in thirty minutes."

"Bossy wench," he taunted on his way out of the kitchen area.

All I had to do was a quick change into my dinner gown, brush out my hair and add a dab of lip-gloss. On the way upstairs I heard Erik in the music room. He was paying _The Coventry Carol_ on his violin; a beautiful yet melancholy 15th century piece about Herod's slaugh­ter of the in­no­cents_. How Erik_, I thought.

I stood just beyond the open door, breathing in the glorious notes as if they were oxygen. I waited for him finish the piece before entering.

"Dinner is ready Erik," I interrupted softly.

His eyes were shut He appeared to be luxuriating in the resonance his deft fingers elicited from the old instrument. Returning to the world, he opened his eyes, nodded, and replaced the violin back in its case.

By the time he made it to the table, I had already arranged our meal on the table.

"The master of the manor should choose the wine tonight," I suggested. "We're having quail, Cailles à la Vigneronne."

"Have you a preference Mademoiselle?"

"Whatever you choose will be perfect."

"Is this a special occasion"?

"It is to me Erik, it's Christmas."

"Oh, yes, of course—ahem—a robust red; Chateauneuf du pape then?"

"Splendid choice Monsieur. Now, open it up so it can breathe. I'm in need of a substantial swig."

He furrowed his brow at me, "A swig Gabrielle? Really."

"Let's sit, everything is ready. Oh, I forgot the bread. How un-French of me," I scurried back into the kitchen for the Fougasse.

I set the bread down and began to pull out my chair, when Erik intercepted my efforts. "Please allow me Mademoiselle Thomassen."

"Why thank you Monsieur DuPuis," I tried not to giggle at our formalities. Erik was being such a gentleman I wasn't in a hurry to break the spell.

"I see that I am back to being a Mademoiselle."

"The Roux's will be absent for a while. There is no need for pretense tonight, unless you enjoy playing the grieving widow."

"Hardly." I bowed my head for a brief grace and noticed that Erik was giving me a curious hairy eyeball.

"_I_ don't pray."

"I do, Erik. I want to say grace, I know how you feel about religion so I don't expect you to participate."

He pursed his lips and shrugged slightly.

"Dear Lord, I am thankful for your provisions and protection, please bless this food, this day and my loved ones, In the name of the son, amen."

As I finished I noticed he had bowed his slightly, in deference to me I supposed.

'You're not Catholic are you Gabrielle?"

"Actually, I was baptized Episcopalian, its close, but not as many rules. Why do you ask?"

"Your blessing was the most casual one I've ever witnessed."

"I think God prefers to hear things from the heart, rather than by rote."

"Shall we toast?" I suggested moving the subject back into his territory.

"To?"

"Why you Monsieur DuPuis,' I raised my glass, "For your for your generosity these past six months. You're sort of my…well, hero you know."

"I am not anyone's hero," he blanched.

"OK, how about toasting to your genius and my sparkling wit?"

"Indeed," he raised his goblet to meet mine.

**- o -**

_footnote: Roast hen with figs in a wine cream sauce, square bread made with onions and herbs, potato and vegetable soup and, spiced ginger bread._

_**Thanks for reading (and reviewing too). Please review if you have time, at least let me know that you are out there or I will cry. - Leesa **_


	14. Ch 14 de Joyeux Noël part deaux

_**Alda, Pertie, Priestess of Anubas, Mbin, Silmarwengreenleaf22, and all of you fab readers, thanks for your continued comments (brownies to all). KayBlueEyes, you're right, Erik would be interested in the Sears tower and of course the former Trade Centers for many reasons. In the last chapter, some of you thought Gabrielle's journal didn't give him much of a reason to be cheerful. It wasn't earth shattering, but heck, having someone care if he's are happy is out of the ordinary for poor Erik. Bubcik you can find the recipes on frenchfood.about dot com. Enjoy!**_

_**Re cap: Erik and Gabrielle have Christmas dinner. Erik picks her brain…**_

Ch-14 de Joyeux Noël part deaux

Dinner was superb; Erik must have been pleased since he took a second helping. We didn't chat much, mostly concentrating on our meal. Casual conversation remained rather stilted since our encounter less than a week ago in the stables.

What did one say to a man 19th century gentleman who'd recently had his hands in your knickers? Pretending as if it hadn't happened was odd, but we were doing our darndest to avoid any romantic insinuations.

My thoughts soon turned to home. I wondered how my Dad and Michael were spending their holiday? Were they at Grandma Thomassen's enjoying a big stuffed turkey with all the trimmings, plus every sort of pie a righteous crust could hold? I could see Aunt Iris bossing the little kids around; making sure that the boys weren't playing with the girl's dolls and the girls weren't fighting with each other. Later, after we all napped off our bloated bellies, my brother Michael, his date-Du-jour, Tony and I plus assorted other friends would take off for a nightspot.

"Gabrielle, would you like more wine?"

"Gabrielle, where have you gone dear?"

I hadn't heard Erik speaking to me. "Wh-what? I'm sorry, I was wondering what my family was doing this year. They had better be missing me. And yes, more wine please."

"You've told me much about the time from which you came, but now that you have lived in the 1800's for a while, what do you find you miss the most, besides your dear ones of course?"

"Who-boy, lots of stuff. I'll try to narrow it down to a few everyday things I miss the most.

The thing I missed at first was air conditioning. I know the principal exists now on a purely theoretical scientific level, but It won't be here for another thirty or forty years. Paris feels like Hades in the summer and wearing these crinoline lined straight jackets is insufferable. I don't know how you stand the heat Erik, unless you go underground like a mole somehow. I had baited him and watched closely for any hint of reaction to my innocent suggestion.

As good as Erik is at holding a poker face he couldn't fool a former reporter. I discerned a faint shoulder twitch before he laughed at me, "Mademoiselle, I am used to the heat as are most people. Modern conveniences have yet to make us spoiled and soft."

"Whatever dude," I teased him dryly, "anyway, what else do I miss?"

There are the movies. Around the holidays every year movie houses release a barrage of new films. My family and friends always pick one to go to Christmas night. In your time you will have silent movies that will blow everybody's mind. Well, movies in my time are monumental; the technology involved in making one is phenomenal. You've seen my laptop computer; well filmmakers use complex computer graphics to design special effects that make you feel as if while watching, you are in the middle of the action. Oh Erik, with your creative mathematical mind, you would love filmmaking!"

Erik sat perfectly still, his head inclined toward me, indicating a deep interest in what I was saying, even if he didn't fully comprehend it all.

"I miss my freedom. I have this wicked-cool car I bought when I got my job at the entertainment show. It's a 350ZX, black. That baby will go over 150mph if I want it to. I remove the roof, crank up the sound system and roll. It's the most exhilarating feeling I know. I can get away and go anytime I want—could that is. That's something I miss terribly.

"It sounds dangerous, 150 mph…I would think a woman would be terrified of piloting such a vehicle." He said.

"Well, my grandma might, but not me."

"Quite the daredevil aren't you Mademoiselle?"

"Yeah, for about a minute before I realize how much fuel I waste driving so fast, that stuff is like gold!"

Erik continued to enjoy his meal while I regaled him with small, salient tales from my missing life.

"I'll tell you what terrifies me the most about being here for an extended time, medical care. There's a significant amount of science your doctors and surgeons do not know yet. Way too many women of your era continue to perish in childbirth. Influenza and fever are still enormous problems. Not that they don't exist in the 21st century, but at least minor ailments and occurrences of nature don't render our society completely helpless. Especially things gynecological."

Erik winced.

"Don't worry, I'll spare your delicate sensibilities at the dinner table Monsieur," I smiled knowing full well a proper Victorian lady would want to keep such things a mystery. Not me, I liked to share my female misery whenever possible.

"You miss them don't you? Gabrielle—Your family that is. If you do not return to the 21st century, what will you do?"

Erik's question caught me by surprise. Sure, I had given it some thought, butI believed I would return.

I put down my fork and stared at my plate, a battalion of tears were on stand-by waiting for marching orders. I swallowed hard and titled my head back to keep them at bay.

"The jury's out on that one Erik. I have considered trying to elbow my way into reviewing one of the many arts for publications. I've actually noticed some bylines from women writers in some of your publications. I know more than most about the artists and composers of today, and I write well in French. It is what I studied when I was here at the Sorbonne for that year."

"So you are a scholar then Mademoiselle? I am impressed. But then you have no current connections here Gabrielle, how would you accomplish such a lofty endeavor – finding occupation as a writer?"

"Contacts I suppose Erik. I'd make up some editorials from reviews of American shows. How would they know? I would send them around, using a man's name of course and see if I could get some bites. You are aware of what's going on in the world of arts and entertainment Erik, even though you don't socialize within it's circles, you could give me the information, you know the 411 I need."

"I would look for work in Paris and England. If I came up empty handed, there's always the great gleaming new world of America."

"Why can't you be satisfied staying here with…?" he stared at me, his eyes displaying displeasure.

"Please don't misunderstand me Erik, I like it here very much. I simply can't sponge off of you forever; besides, I have to do something. Cooking can be enjoyable, but it's not my first love. The arts are my passion Erik."

"I offer you refuge here for as long as you require Gabrielle, you needent leave," his demeanor softened.

A light suddenly sparked in his jade eyes.

"You could help me with my music. I loathe shopping my compositions around to the opera houses, but it has to be done. Management and artistic directors can be so foolish. Dealing with them is torture for me. You are smart, shrewd and pretty. Representing my works could be the perfect occupation for you."

I cocked my head and considered his offer, "I'm bowled over. That's atempting offer Erik. Let's both formulate more ideas on this and talk it over later. Will that please you?"

"Must we wait."?

"Yes, I have something to show you. Let's have sherry in the salon its such an elegant room and it gets so little use."

He raised his eyebrow and began to speak.

I put an index finger to my lips to shush him as I pushed back from the table.

"Come, follow me," I took his hand and led him to the salon at the front of the house. I was shaking with anticipation.

"Pray tell Mademoiselle, what is going on?" Erik asked suspiciously.

We had reached the salon. Erik scanned the room quickly. I had the fireplace blazing warmth into the room. It glowed with two dozen fragrant candles, illuminating the tiny Christmas tree.

"I see."

Ireleased his hand, "Please sit down."

He obeyed my gentle command. I poured two sherries from a crystal decanter and took a place beside him on one of the white Louis XIV velvet settees.

"Why are you shaking Gabrielle? You can't be cold dear, it is quite warm in here…and quite lovely too. I never frequent this room. The house is too big for my taste. It is the seclusion of the location that I require most."

He considered the tree for a moment, "Sad little fellow isn't he. Why didn't you get a larger one?"

"You wouldn't let me, remember Scrooge?" I dared tease. "That's why I hid it in my room and snuck all of this stuff down here while you were in my room fetching my robe." _And reading my journal._

A smile touched the corner of his lips.

Erik did not appear angry. That was a good sign.

"I- I hope you aren't upset with me. I needed a little Christmas."

I handed him the gilded package from under the tree.

"Here, it's no biggie, I know you don't like Christmas and all, but I like giving gifts and—well, I don't care if I don't have anything but I thought…"

Erik held up his hand and smiled at me, "You're babbling Gabrielle."

I slapped my hand over my mouth.

"I suppose I am to open this parcel then?"

"That's how we do it in 2005."

I watched anxiously as Erik untied the ribbon and carefully pealed off the tissue, which he then folded into a neat square and laid on the marble table. His eyes widened slightly when he saw the boutique name on the box.

I laughed, "You're more patient than most people I know. Our family just rips everything open in a feeding frenzy Christmas morning."

"How gauche," hereproached.

Erik removed the figurines from the box, turning each one around in his hand for examination before placing them carefully on the table. He stared at the gift with out saying a word.

_Oh god, I hope I hadn't made a gross mistake._

"Do you like them?" I whispered.

"This it is a wonderful present. Thank you, Gabrielle," tears formed in his eyes.

"You're welcome Erik," I thought you would enjoy the subtle irony.

"Really? Then which monkey am I Mademoiselle?"

"All of them of course. You do play all the instruments don't you?"

"Naturally. Oh look there is even a conductor," he marveled.

"Ah, now that one's definitely you. He's running the show."

"There's more too, your stocking full of goodies!" I jumped up to get the Christmas stocking from the mantle.

"'What's this?" He asked eying the knit stocking curiously.

"That is a Christmas stocking, see it even has your name on it. There's cool stuff inside too. Check it out."

Erik took the stocking from my hand and held it up as if it were the catach of the day. One slender finger traced the name that I hadembroidered on it."My name," he whipseredin wonder. He then peered inside and then pulled out a few of the brightly wrapped chocolates.

"I guess I should have included a tin of tooth powder as well huh?"

Erik grew solemn. He moved the stocking from his lap and stood to leave.

Oh no, had I made an injudicious error in judgment and insulted him? Erik was so hard to read. I shot the rest of my sherry and poured myself another.

To my immense relief he returned quickly. He was carrying a large item concealed beneath a blanket.

"Gabrielle," Erik began as he stood in front of me, "I know how desperately you miss you family and your former life. I cannot give that back to you, but perhaps I can provide you with the means to enjoy a piece of what was left behind."

He placed the object into my hands. "I know it is not properly wrapped."

I was stunned to find a beautiful Spanish guitar under the blanket. The instrument was made of fine wood and adorned with mother of pearl inlays. Struck with awe, I picked up the guitar and ran my thumb over the strings. Evidently Erik had tuned it because her tone was clear and resonant.

"Erik, I murmured," this is beautiful. You remembered that I used to play." I looked up at him with astonishment. No words seemed adequate for describing my gratitude.

The tears that had been threatening me all night began to escape, and for once I didn't care.

"You must play a tune for me Gabrielle," Erik's voice pulled me from the mist.

"After I practice first. It's been a while since I've been able to play. You and I will have to choose a song. I'll play, you'll sing. That would be tre' cool!"

"Whatever you say dear, but I get to choose the selection. I'll sing none of those songs by people who do nothing but scream like banshees. What did you call them…hair or punk rock musicians?"

I stifled a giggle in an attempt to appear serious, "I promise Erik; no G-N-R, Sex Pistols or Smashing Pumpkins, never ever."

"Are they the one's who sing that ghastly _Rat in the Cage_ song? Even though I can certainly sympathize with the lyrics, I could never do such a thing to my voice, my precious instrument. Perhaps we could learn a selection by those Beatle fellows? They possess simplistic appeal."

"Ha," I burst out laughing and crying in the same instant. I impetuously threw my arms around him in gratitude, "Erik, yours is the most wonderful Christmas gift I've ever received from anyone, ever. I began to cry on his shoulder.

"Here, here now, I didn't mean for you to shed tears, I meant for you to be happy darling." Not sure how to handle an emotional woman, Erik hesitantly placed his arms around me and patted my back.

I pulled away from him and met his gaze. "Oh I am happy. Did _you_ shop for this?"

"Why Gabrielle, you seem shocked. From time to time I do tolerate mixing among the human race when there is something I desire from them," he said darkly.

I took his hands in mine. We both considered each other in silence for a long time before he spoke, "In the stable the other day, I told you that you were amazing. You are, and I'm not merely speaking of your body Gabrielle."

Blushing is not something I am prone to, but I am certain my entire face was as red as Ashley Simpson's at a lip-sync contest.

"Chéri Gabrielle, de Joyeux Noël," he intoned warmly in that smooth melodious French accent. 

"Ditto Monsieur," I flashed him my _Shy-Di _smile.

We hovered on the precipice of admitting there was something developing between us. My uncertain future, combined with what I knew of Erik's, held us in frustrated reserve.

**- 0 -**

**_They're maddening aren't they? Please review. I live for it. - Leesa_**


	15. Ch 15 Girls just Wanna have Fun

_**Author's notes:**_

_**Yo reviewers and lurkers. Welcome to my Phanfic. If you are reading "Time" for the first time, please review it. Your comments matter to Gabrielle and Erik immensely.Things are going to become quite interesting in the next few chapters (PLEASE read and review).**_

**Ch 15 - Girls Just Wanna Have Fun**

_**Re-cap: Erik and Gabrielle exchange Christmas gifts and began to show feelings for one another…**_

Erik was so hard to read. He was a vast book whose cover was striking and elaborately polished, yet revealed nothing of the epic novel within.

Torrents of questions spiraled down from my brain spilling into my mouth, straining for the right to articulate.

_So Erik, tell me who you are and of your past. What do you see for your future? What do you want? Could you want me? Could you love me? And would you let me love you? _

Where did these questions of love come from Gabrielle?_ Has the Sherry turned rancid I wondered?_

The hour was late, probably close to 3 am, and we were both fading from an evening of food, festivities and findings. Erik stood and clasped his hands behind his back. He arched his back for a good stretch.

"I saw you chopping wood today; I know your musclesmust be sore, if I weren't so pooped I'd massage your back tonight," I rationalized.

He eyed me curiously; "It's better this way. As tired as we both are, we might well collapse into sleep. What would the Roux's think when they return tomorrow morning only to discover we have taken to sleeping in the same bedroom? Remember, there are the remnants of our dinner still to be tidied up too."

"Yes, I also remember Monsieur that you offered to help me tidy up those remnants. _Quote: I have lived alone and fended for myself most of my life; it has been only recently that others have waited on me. I shall do my share to help you tomorrow. It is only fair Gabrielle._"

"Did I?" He made a halfhearted attempt to feign forgetfulness.

"Well Gabrielle, I am a man of my word. Besides we do not wish to raise the hackles of Marie Roux when she spies our messiness, trust me. That woman has no fear of the Phan… the fantastically strict lord of the manor."

_He didn't almost say Phantom…did he?_ I had to will my mouth not to pop open in astonishment_. It looks like libation and fatigue gives Erik loose lips._

I recovered quickly from my shock and decided it was time to hit the hay before someone did or said something imprudent. The day had been too wonderful to ruin now.

"Then late to bed and early to rise it is." I closed the small gap between us and placed a chaste kiss on Erik's cheek, "Sleep well Erik."

I made a swift exit before I he had a chance to respond.

I was floating in a tepid, serine, azure sea and smiling peacefully when three short raps assaulted my bedrooms door.

"Come, have coffee and fruit Gabrielle before we clean-up. The Roux's will be back soon," the voice called crisply. Of course it was Erik.

_Hell— morning. Hadn't I just laid my head on the pillow five minutes ago_?

I flung my body from the bed, otherwise I would never have risen, and dressed with minimum effort, grumbling the entire time about having to don one of those constrictive period dresses. The Roux's could return at anytime. I couldn't be caught looking like _21st century Gabby_.

I did have misery in my company. Erik is a dedicated creature of the night; mornings are not his best time of day. I was surprised to see him already at the sink with his shirtsleeve rolled up, washing dishes. Do I wish I still had an instant camera, seeing him up to his elbows in suds was god-awful funny to me for some reason.

"Good morning Monsieur, I see you have made significant headway on our mess. But I do wonder, where is your apron?"

He welcomed me with a sideways glare; you'll catch me dead in one. Because I am fastidious and capable does not mean that I am a woman mademoiselle."

"As if you'd ever be mistaken for a woman Erik, not that there's anything _wrong _with being a woman," I goaded him mischievously.

I playfully popped him in the hip with a dishtowel then jumped out of his way.

"What _do_ you think you are doing Gabrielle?" he bellowed. "That was a highly improvident action," he jerked his hands from the dishwater, dripping suds from his arms and onto the kitchen's stone floor and bounded after me.

We played cat and mouse around the butcher block. Erik attempted to trap me. I couldn't tell if the dark glint in his eyes meant he was playing or pissed.

I ran for it. He caught me by the sash on my blasted skirt. I shrieked as I found myself being pulled backwards. The next thing I knew I had been grabbed around my waist and bent forward over the butcher block.

"_You_ are in need of a spanking," he growled menacingly.

"I what? No, lord no. Are you wack?" Ooh bad choice of words.

"Erik, release me now. You have lost you're ever lovin mind!" I squirmed and begged.

"Why yes, I am totally mad— amazing you're just now figuring that out. And I thought you to be a bright girl Gabrielle," he chuckled manically.

Suddenly he jerked up, nearly sending me spilling to my knees. His face was ashen, his eyes wide and watchful as a wolf.

"What is it?

"Shhh," Erik held a finger to his lips, "The Roux's have returned, we must straighten up lest they think that we are…."

"That we're what Erik; that we're having fun? God forbid," I snapped.

He ignored me and unrolled and re-buttoned the French sleeves of his shirt.

Marie burst in through the kitchen door with Henri trailing behind her. Behind him stood a young woman.

"Greetings all," Marie smiled warmly. I trust you enjoyed a pleasant holiday while we were in Niece? "

"Yes Madame, in fact we did, but it is nice to have you back. The manor can be way too quite with only the two of us here," I answered.

"You certainly don't have to tell me what a gregarious conversationalist our M.Dupuis is," Marie agreed dismissively.

"Humph, good to see you too Marie," Erik scowled.

"Don't be cross Erik, we have company. Henri, hurry up with Caron's things now, we don't want her waiting out in the cold, she'll catch her death. Caron dear, do come into the house."

The young blonde edged her way into the kitchen attempting a shy smile at Erik and I.

"Erik, you remember Caron our only daughter who is married to the navy man?" Marie addressed her daughter then gestured to Erik.

"You were a mere girl then, but I see you have grown into a lovely woman Madame Spencer," Erik took her hand, air kissing it politely.

"I am sure your parents are delighted to have your company, as will my guest and family friend, Madame Gabrielle Thomassen." Erik introduced the two of us.

"A pleasure Mdm. Spencer," I said.

"Please do call me Caron."

"If you call me Gabrielle," I smiled in return.

"Well if you ladies are through with your proper introductions I do think I'll be unloading this luggage and sending the carriage back to the city now. M. DuPuis would you care to show me where Caron will be sleeping?" The usually blustery Henri Roux looked weary.

"Certainly Henri, follow me. Ladies, Erik bowed to us, then led Henri toward the second floor bedrooms. As he left the kitchen I heard Henri remark that Erik was a brave man to allow two young women the run of his home for the next ten days.

Life at DuPuis manor slipped back into it's normal routine of quiet tedium. The opportunity to spend time with someone closer to my age to chat with was a welcome diversion. Caron, the Roux's only daughter, was sweet and intelligent.

I enjoyed her stories of growing up in Paris with her loving and lively family. She attended boarding school in London where she met her husband. Through Caron I grasped a true feeling for Victorian culture, which was more pronounced in the oppressive confines of her titled English world. At twenty-two, she had not really begun to live her life as a married woman. Her husband had joined the Royal Navy shortly after their marriage; hence she had yet to push out any babies.

With much time on her hands and little to do, Caron accepted her parents' invitation to stay with them. Henri reasoned that spending time in the French countryside would do her health a world of good. I think he really missed his little girl.

If Caron had her way, I suspect she would have followed in the footsteps of her cousin Meg  
Giry as a principle dancer with Paris Opera Company. Caron was rumored to have  
a lovely fresh voice and infinity for dance. Mdm. Roux forbids any member of her immediate family to entertain the idea of such foolishness. There were few options for young women of Caron's day, and her loving mother only wanted a honorable life for her daughter.

Even though there were seven years between the two of us, we got on well with one another. She was still so much of a giggling young girl, logged in the growing pains of becoming a young woman of polite society. Even though I was seven years her senior, I could well relate to the disquieting detachment of loneliness. I now resided within a suffocating society that preferred their women as pretty objects to display, impregnate, or clean their homes. Learning how to navigate the rules and customs of 19th century France would become one of the largest of my life's challenges.

Now as far as people go, Erik didn't mind the Roux's daughter, in fact, he barley acknowledged her presence. Not to say he was rude, he just hid in his music room, library, or some other clandestine location in the vast house. His only concession to us was when he made an appearance for supper. Always a gracious host, he would regale Caron with stories from his time as a young architect in Persia and Italy. Occasionally Erik would amuse Caron with a slight of hand trick, something one might see at a typical magic show, but amusing to Caron just the same. No, Erik had assuredly not become a social butterfly, he remained reserved and detached, but when he did engage his guests, he was charming in what I like to call a 'weird artist' sort of way.

Having tired of reading, horseback ridding (detestable side-saddle of course, Caron would not have understood my jeans), walks in the garden and cooking lessons. I suggested a shopping trip to Paris- everyone knows women live to shop. M.Roux drove us to the city, gave us a four-hour window for which to do our damage, them he disappeared into a forbidden pub.

Both of us delighted in having female companionship for a change. In London, she had lived with her British in-laws. They were very regal old money English with strict codes of how a young married lady was to conduct herself. Piano playing and singing for dinner guests, ladies clubs and other shit like that—not all unworthy ideas, but no fun was involved whatsoever. I informed her that until we had children to occupy our every waking breath, we owed it to ourselves to have a slice of fun. Poor dear had no inkling that she was in cahoots with a former club kid from a Promethean society who hungered for adventure.

The day was cold, but bright and we spent ample time in a cafe' drinking Cafe Du nuits and scarifying decadent pots de creme and éclairs. I don't think we skipped one single shop on _The Boulevard Haussman_ Caron purchased some silk flowers for her mother and fine pipe tobacco for her mother. When she asked what would make a fitting gift for her host, M.Dupuis, I suggested one of his culinary weaknesses; fine dark chocolates. We had literally shopped until dropping, but had an hour left until we ere to meet back with her father.

No one to waste good down time, I had an idea. "Caron, since you are French, you know fine wines, am I right?"

She stuck her bottom lip out and considered my question. "Well, yes, only the men partake of drink in the Spencer household, but it was always around when I was growing up. I've not had much in a while. Mdm. Spencer says that proper ladies do not imbibe outside of social occasions, and even then we hold the same glass all evening long."

"That doesn't sound very French to me," I retorted. Your in-laws are hundreds of miles away. It's an hour ride to the manor house and we have an hour to lose. I suggest we live a little and stop in that cafe we saw on the avenue de Clichy. We can have a bottle of whatever your favorite grape juice and then nap on the way back. What about it?"

"Oh Gabrielle, that would be naughty. I dare not."

"And why not? What are you doing that would be so wrong? You are not cheating on your husband, not neglecting children at home; you are on a holiday of sorts. The way I see it, if you have no ill intent, you cannot be charged of a crime. C'mon, I insisted as I drug her into the Café Guerbois.

Inside a rosy fire lit the room. Parisians were in animated conversation at the various tables covering the stone floor. A young man sang torch ballads in the corner. I chose an indiscrete corner table to nestle into. The little round table was adorned with a single red that reminded me of Erik. His summer garden was filled with many rose bushes, one of which produces the most stunning long stemmed red blooms. Caron and I nestled in and I promptly ordered a bottle of Margaux.

"Gabrielle, are you sure it's alright for us to do this? We are unescorted women, I feel so naughty!

"It's OK Caron, it's daytime, they don't pay much attention to whether or not you have caretaker with you when the sun is shinning," I reassured her.

This knowledge seemed to calm her down some and after gulping down the first glass of wine, Caron relaxed considerably.

The next hour was spent telling stories of old beaus, horrific schoolmasters, and the difficulties of being the bride of a service man. My stories had to be edited somewhat to suit Caron's limited knowledge. Imagine telling a young Victorian woman that I went to a mixed university where I majored in English Lit and all night Raves. I convinced her that when I visited New York City in the States, it was OK for women to go the theatre and dance halls alone. We would often bring a friend or a man, whichever was most available, and enjoy a night of music or dancing.

"If only there were such freedom here in the city of light," I sighed wistfully. Caron smiled perceptively. I think I saw a bit of longing in her light blue eyes. Her knowing expression, plus a mix of wine and reminiscing about my lost life led my fertile mind to a dangerously fresh idea.

"Gabrielle, mother tells me that you have been at the manor for six months. Is it strange to be a widow?" Caron asked.

"Mostly it is sad Caron, but I am coping," I answered no willing to divulge much.

"I shouldn't ask, but I can't help but be curious. What is _he_ like?" her blue eyes grew large with interest.

"Are you asking me about M.Dupuis?"

"It's rude, forgive me for prying. Mother tells me that he is reclusive, not mean and that he loves no one because his heart was irreversibly broken. Do you believe that to be true Gabrielle?

I swished the burgundy colored wine in my glass and thought about Erik. "In Erik's case, I cannot say; however, I think a persons heart can seem destroyed, but like the fabled Phoenix, if nurtured, the heart can rise from the ashes to live in love again."

Caron smiled sadly in agreement. "'Mother tells me that he wears the mask because the flesh beneath there is terrible disfigured. He never takes it off in front of others. Have you seen his face Gabrielle?"

"Me? Heavens no girl. Why would M. DuPuis unmask for me? If he hide for one why wouldn't he hide for all?"

"I overheard mother say to father that she believes he fancy's you, I thought maybe if he trusted you he might…I am so sorry, I am being boorish Gabrielle—asking such indelicate questions."

"Um…no, think nothing of the sort Caron, but your parents are mistaken. M. Dupuis and I have become casual friends due to our love of literature and music. Nothing more."

She leaned in and spoke in a whisper, "Don't you think him to be quite…arresting in a brooding sort of way? Well, at least what one can see?" She giggled into her gloved hand.

_What sort of French girl gets giggly on two glasses of wine?_

"Yes, he wears his elegant clothes well," I replied.

_Time to switch subjects. I had a brainstorm._

"Quickly, we only have about fifteen minutes left to meet your father and I want to stop by the tailor that Erik uses for something."

"Oh, were you supposed to pick up some garments for M.Dupuis?" she asked innocently.

"Well, no not really." I couldn't lie to that trusting face. Wouldn't you just love to go to the Café's of St-Germain to unleash your spirit, dance, sing and have some fun, no debaucheries?

"But, it's not possible Gabrielle, we don't have men to escort us—you know that's the rule. I'm afraid I could never be so bold. I'm not like you Gabrielle." she apologized.

"Oh no Caron, I'm not suggesting that we buck the system, so to speak, I will go to Erik's tailor and order a fine men's suit. At 5'5" I am much taller than you are, there are many slight men around and I am a master at stage make-up having been in telev... theatre. No one will ever suspect that I am not a boyish-man. I'll be your escort for the evening— your cousin Pierre," I announced triumphantly. "We'll slip into Paris for a night of lady like pursuits, go to the cafe and live it up like true cosmopolitan citizens!"

"I couldn't deceive my parents like that Gabrielle, that would be imprudent."

_Bloody Girl Scout_, I thought.

"Oh contraire Madame, we wouldn't. We could have you write Meg and suggest that you may be in town at the time in question. If you show up at her home, great, if not, you can say that something came up, which is the truth. Of course we won't tell her when we are coming so no one will be the wiser when we change our minds and stay at a swanky hotel instead. See Caron? There's no lying involved, and I will take full responsibility if we are to be discovered. What can be done to me but to send me packing back to where I came from?" I chuckled for my sake as well as hers.

Caron, you are young and vibrant. You love the arts. Your esteemed husband will return before you know it and you'll spend the rest of your youth birthing and burping babies. Live a little woman!" I coaxed enthusiastically.

Caron's breathing had increased and she was wringing her hands excitedly, "Well, she giggled into gloved hands, "It does sound positively exciting. Could we, _dare_ we do this Gabrielle?"

"Absolutely! Now, let's get to the tailors for my measurements before we run out of time."

"Oh my father won't care if we're a tiny bit tardy, he does enjoy his male camaraderie."

"And I'm sure the Belgium ale is not bad either."

I ordered my masculine evening ensemble from Erik's tailor. To keep from garnering disapproving looks, I informed the man that I would be attending a masquerade ball and wanted to surprise everyone by making a convincing showing as a man. I paid him in advance so no bill would appear on Erik's account.

"Please don't tell M.Dupuis, I winked at the man as if I were sharing covert information with him, "I wish to surprise him with my outfit!" I smiled impishly.

The man nodded as if he were taking a solemn oath.

I was amped up, in three weeks I would be picking up my party duds. Mdm. Caron Spencer and I had a date with the grand bourgeoisie society of the historically famous Cafe's of Paris.

This was going to _rock_.

- O -

**_You know what to do. Please, please, pleasereview_****_. Tripple props for doing so last time too: Littledaae323- A hotel room? How about a dark alley (grins). LafemmeEslie- yes, they are so scared they can't see the forest for the trees, but it will come (or somebody will). Dunthonwen- you flatter me…now get some sleep. I'm still seeking a proofreader/Beta too if you have any ideas email me at "lkmitch at hot mail dot com."_**

**_The next few chapters will singe your fingers, so beware delicate ones._**

**_With much love and appreciation - Leesainthesky_**


	16. Ch 16 Fate, or something like it

_**Dunny, KayBlueEyes, Pertie, littledaae, and all who bless me with reviews, Erik has a big kiss for you all. This chapter won't rate an M rating as promised because I've decided to include all of the smut in the next one. But you'll enjoy the passion play here. In the words of the great 80's poet Tone Loc "Let' do it..."**_

_Re-cap: The Roux's daughter comes to visit. Gabrielle decides to be a man for a night so she and Caron can go clubbing in Paris..._

**Ch 16 - Fate**

Caron informed her mother that she wished to visit cousin Meg in Paris. Mdm. Roux had no reservations about a jaunt to the city since her daughter would have an older woman as a chaperone.

A letter was swiftly penned to Meg. We would like to visit in seven days. My party threads would be done and delivered by then.

As much as I was looking forward to our impending walk on the wild side, butterflies danced in my stomach at the thought of navigating the Parisian nightlife. Being caught by the dually stern Mdm. Roux and M. DuPuis was also cause for unease. I pushed the thought deep within my gray matter.

We had Mdm. Roux's full blessing, "Your cousin Meg will be delighted to see you dear. I know it has been some time since you have been able to visit Paris. Mdm. Gabrielle should enjoy the excursion as well—she does not socialize much I am afraid. Perhaps Meg can treat you to a night at the Opera. It is season, although I'm afraid I have not kept up with their performance schedule."

"Oh yes mother, that is a lovely thought isn't it Gabrielle?" Caron flashed me a coy smile.

"Lovely, indeed I have never seen an opera performed in Paris. I am sure it is sublime, especially if your niece is performing Mdm," I flattered.

Mdm. Roux spent the next thirty minutes describing to me the grand spectacle that was the internationally renowned Opera Garnier. She regaled me with images of the building's façade and grand staircase; the entire structures opulence, the elaborate costumes and realistic sets. She assured me that the singers possessed unequaled prowess and of course, the was the stupendous ballet headed by her sister, Antoinette Giry.

I listened with genuine fascination. Mdm. Roux was not aware her words described history in the making. I couldn't help but feel a bit ornery; so I prodded her to see how much she really knew about the Paris opera house.

"The Paris opera House sounds grand Marie, by the way, is there any truth to that rumor of the Phantom of the Opera?" A friend of mine from the Junior League had been in Paris during the spring of 1871. She and her husband had tickets to the opera while they were here, but there was a fire and the opera was out of commission for several months.

They told me there were rumors of a man who inhabited the opera, a disfigured genius who had stolen a soprano. It was in all the newspapers. That's an astonishing tale Marie. Is there any merit to it?

Marie Roux's complexion turned an interesting shade of ecru; her expression had me in mind of a horse that is not sure he wants to be ridden.

"There was a romantic triangle between a girl and two suitors, yes. There was also a rumor of a ghost, but you know how those stories are, they serve as myths meant to frighten children and raise ticket sales. An opera ghost, really, how absurd."

"Forgive my curiosity Madame, but I had heard that a man did live in the fifth cellar of the opera house? Your sister worked there then did she not Marie, perhaps she has some fantastic stories to tell?"

"No there are no stories to tell—nothing! I do hope you do not question Antoinette when you are in Paris Gabrielle, it would only upset her." Marie sounded vexed.

"Of course Madame, I would not wish to be rude and insensititive. Still, something must have transpired if everyone is so closed mouthed about the incident," I mused.

Ha! If looks could kill I I'd have been potting soil yesterday.

Three more days, that's all there was left to wait until Caron and I hit the mean streets of Paris. That 1980's hit by Cyndi Lauper kept cycling round in my head; _Girls Just Wanna Have fu-unnn_!

Paris in the 1800's had always fascinated me and I was eager to check out some of the places I had frequented when I lived there for a year in 1999. To trot down the Champs Elysees in a horse drawn carriage and listen to the musicians of the café's while painters and philosophers and royal wanna-bees posed for one another's benefit enchanted my day dreams.

My partner and I would dine at the _le Grand Café Capucines. There would be dancing or the Ballet or opera. _Our evening of frolicking would cumulate with the luxurious accommodations at the Le Relais du Louvre, a fabulous 18th century Hotel. Naturally I envisioned my fantasy shared with a handsome Monsieur, not _as_ one.

Erik was on board with the excursion as well, "Gabrielle, I am pleased that you have an opportunity to get out and socialize. Being cooped up is a challenge to the sanity of most. You will be in good hands. Madame Roux has a trustworthy family. If not for her dear sister, I may have ceased to exist long ago. Not that I am always sure saving my sorry hide was a blessing."

"Oh put a lid on the pity party Erik. If not for Madame Giry saving yours you would not have been able to save mine Erik. It's what we call passing it on."

"A good deed for a lifetime I am sure," he smirked.

"Watch it dude, I could be the next Empress of France, then you'd have to be really, really nice to me."

"God save us," he taunted in return.

I plopped onto the floor next to his piano in the music room gathering my skirts around me and tilted my head to watch him. Erik was writing down notes on parchment and conversing to me simultaneously.

"Erik, I know you are preparing to travel to London on business tomorrow, I would be honored if you would take me with you sometime. Naturally I would stay out of your way. It would just be nice to go somewhere else once in a while and I know you know your way around. We could get a carriage and you could show me the sights, " I suggested cheerfully, hoping that he would see how effortless this could be for him.

Erik continued putting notes to parchment while he spoke, "Why in the world would you want to be seen with me?"

"Well why in the world would I not?"

He sighed heavily and put down his pen. Turing to me he said, "Gabrielle, you are not a mindless nit, surely you realize that I am not the best of company for a young lady."

"Squirrel-shit Erik," I retorted. I love spending time with you. You are clever, truculent and aloof; therefore I find you infinitely interesting."

"Damn it Gabrielle, you do not realize who or what I am do you?"

"Well then, why don't you elaborate on that theme Erik? I would love to know more about you."

He laughed bitterly, "Oh no dear, you would _not_ like Erik if you knew the true man. I am a vile, hateful man who loathes humanity. Then there is this!" He jabbed a finger at his face.

"Look Erik," I said in a tender voice, you and I have been down this path already. I so do not care what your face looks like. I know we would have a good time hanging out together. Please have an open mind about this," I continued to plead.

"Could you handle the stares and cruel comments from everyone everywhere we went? Pointing, laughing, jeering. I can hear them now. _Look at that pretty woman with that circus freak, what must be her inner affliction_?"

"I don't give a hooey what anyone thinks Erik. I'd just tell them to go bite themselves."

"Yes, that would help the situation tremendously" He snapped.

I leaned back on my hands and pursed my lips in thought. Should I tell him what I know? He could toss me out or the worst-case scenario he could kill me. Naw, Erik's not _that_ crazy, but still…"

"Hey Erik? What would you do if I told you that I know some of your secrets? Would you have to kill me?"

His eyes grew dark and his face twisted into a bewildered scowl, "Some of my secrets? What sort of secrets could you possibly know Gabrielle—Has someone been speaking to you in my behalf?"

"No. Two things. I am an avid reader and I like history. Do you remember the day you upset me and I hid in the attic?"

He nodded.

"I got terribly bored and cold and went searching for a blanket. I opened a few of the trunks to see if I could find one to wrap around myself. Welll…I ran across some newspaper clippings and …"

In one quick move he was off of the piano bench and towering over me, his hands clenched in rage as he peered down at me menacingly.

"You were prying into my business? You have no right to take such actions you little charlatan! How dare you. And to think I trusted you," he spat bitterly.

I matched his movements and stood glaring into his stormy jade eyes.

"And you still can Erik. I read some clippings. People do that sort of thing when they run across newspapers and such in attics. It's not as if I read your journal! Anyway that happened months ago. Have I betrayed you in anyway since that time?

He sustained his venomous stare.

"Well, have I?" I demanded. _The best way to fight fear was with foolish bravado I reasoned._

Erik strode to the music room door and clicked the bolt. We were locked in for privacy. _I hoped._

"Alright dear," his voice had taken on a frightening faux sweetness."Tell me what it is you know about Erik."

Shrugging my shoulders, I made a brave attempt to seem casual, "I knowyou are a fine composer. From my studies I know that you were born in 1830 around Rouen, France, although there is no exact date. I am not going to tell you when you die. Time travelers are forbidden to divulge such facts as they can alter the course of history. You marry and have one or two children. The class was ten years ago, and I spent a lot of time enjoying extracurricular activities while at University, some details are fuzzy. That's all I know really.

Now the articles from your trunk merely told of the incident at the Opera Garnier were a singer was kidnapping during a performance. There was an accident with the opera house's great chandelier and a subsequent fire. The _Figaro_ account claims the man responsible was the infamous Phantom of the Opera. His body was discovered several days after the unfortunate events. He had drowned in the underground lake."

I watched Erik's expression turn from frightening to curious.

"To what extent do you believe I am involved in this affair Madame?"

"Um, Erik? What I know has no bearing on my feelings for you as a composer or a person, but I do _know_ that you…you have to be he Phantom of the Opera."

Erik stood before me, a static, emotionless figure.

"So you know Gabrielle. You know that I am a kidnapper and a murderer, a vile excuse for a man. Because of my twisted repulsive face, I must exist as a manipulative animal to get what I want and need. Am I not a lovely escort for a young woman like yourself?"

"I only know what I've read, which as a former member of the press, is often conjecture."

He turned his back and walked to the window to stare at the light dusting of snow that had begun to fall on the countryside below. I followed, stepping softly on the Persian rug as not to startle him.

I gently placed a hand on his arm and spoke, "I also know that you are wise and fair and kind. I do not judge you Erik."

"I am a freak, a monster Gabrielle," he choked back a sob, "Do you not remember the day I accosted you in the barn?"

"I recall being as much a part of our little tryst as you were. Banish the notion that you had taking advantage of an innocent maiden. Or couldn't you tell that I enjoyed your touch?"

He spun around and growled, "Would you enjoy my touch had you known you were being kissed and groped by this?" he bellowed spitting his words at me.

Erik grasped the top of his white leather mask and ripped it from the right side of his face.

Stunned thought I was, I stood looking at him unflinchingly. Make no mistake; half of his face was definitely disfigured. It was rough and red, part of his eyebrow was missing and the eye dropped. There were lumps and bumps and ridges, but I didn't care. I had seen much worse faces.

Erik searched my eyes for what I assumed was a reaction. From me he received none, not even a flinch.

"You're still Erik," I shrugged and smiled at him tenderly hoping to reassure him.

His chest was heaving, and tears slid down his cheeks. I hated to see this majestic man's torment.

"Please, come here Erik," I held my arms open for him and was slightly surprised when he accepted my embrace.

I urged his head to my shoulder and stroked his hair. I moved slowly to the right side of his face and gently stroked the marred flesh with the back of my hand.

"Gabrielle," he sobbed, you are the first…the _only_ human being ever to gaze upon my face without showing horror. I watched your eyes closely for any sign of disgust, yet there was none. You did not even wince. Why?"

"Because your deformity does not matter to me Erik. I can look at your face and still see the Erik I have come to know. I haven't much to do here so I watch, I observe; I see your loneliness' that you disguise with indifference. Your deep malice toward humanity stems from the fact that few have ever shown you compassion or kindness. God Erik, I'm surprised you suffer anyone after how you have been treated by others.

And you took me in, suspiciously at first, but rightfully so. Your deformity comes as no surprise to me. I mean, you wouldn't wear the damned thing for fun would you? _I didn't mention the Laroux book's description, so much of it penned with vast imaginative creative license_.

He continued to hold onto me, sobbing gently. My heart was breaking for this conflicted, damaged genius. Erik has known so much pain, pain of which I am sure I could never imagine. I wanted to comfort him, to make him feel human; to give him the masculine confidence that was his right as a man.

I rubbed my hands up and down his back as you would a distressed child and kissed the top of his head. A decision was made in that room just then; a decision to show him what it was to be a man. Erik may never love me, but I wanted to show him that he _could_ be loved and desired.

I had no purpose in this world for which I could discern and I do believe that everything happens for a reason. Lagnadan, or fate, as my Nordic ancestors called it.

"Hey Erik?" I whispered to him, look at me for a moment please.

Reluctantly he lifted his head. His eyes were cast downward as he faced me. "Please kiss me."

He appeared confused, "You want me to kiss you? Do you offer me your lips as charity Gabrielle? I will not tolerate pity…"

"Erik, shut yer pie hole and kiss me," I moved in and placed my lips on his. He yielded tentatively as I tongued his lips lightly. They were warm soft and tasted of tears. Erik relaxed and allowed his body to lean into mine. We remained in our tender embrace long enough for both of us to alter our breathing.

Finally we separated. Erik gazed at me with a mix of lust and wonder. I trailed my fingers down the right side of his face, making it clear that this was an act of affection. I was not exploring his defects.

"What do you want Erik?"

His eyes widened at this unexpected request. Erik pondered the request for a moment, not sure of the intent behind my words.

"What do _I_ want?" He laughed sarcastically, "Is this an inquiry ofattainable trivialities Gabrielle or are you asking me about my fruitless fantasies."

I eyes searched his face hoping to convey sincerity, "Be bold, tell me of something you honestly desire, but do not expect to attain."

"Honestly"?

"Yes."

He allowed his smoky jade eyes to roam languorously over my body.

_I see the confident, enigmatic Erik has resurfaced._

He voiced his request with a slow, searing sensuality.

"I wish to take you to my room and slowly undress you."

A throbbing warmth spread between my legs. I could barley find my voice so I nodded in consent and extended my hand to Erik.

"Take me upstairs then."

"Are you certain Gabrielle?"

"Most definitely," I smiled.

_- o -_

_**There you have it. The next chapter will be up soon, I promise. And it will be M for real. Thanks for your patience in the love department, but I like to build relationships before they get their groove on. Please review soon.**_

_**Thanks -Leesa**_


	17. Ch 17 No Return

**For some daft reason I downloaded the wrong version of this chapter (armature!). Here is the updated copy. Don't beat me.**

**_Hello! Kisses from Erik (not me) to my readers and reviewers. First off, this chapter will earn a solid Mature rating. If you're not old enough, (whatever that means) don't read this chapter. You've been officially warned. Forgive any grammatical errors. It was late when I proofed this. _**

_**-Leesainthesky**_

_Ch 16 Re-cap: An angst filled Erik rips off his mask. Gabrielle takes him upstairs for some downtime..._

**Ch 17 -No Return **

The hour was late when we finally emerged from the music room. Caron had long since retired to her bedroom across the hall from mine. Erik was watchful as he led me through the house using a small lamp for illumination.

At the foot of the staircase, he stopped, put the lamp down and whispered, "Gabrielle, allow me to assist you," he swiftly gathered me in his arms and preceded the brief journey up to his bedroom. I was surprised and charmed by his quaint chivalry.

Once I was settled into his strong arms, he picked up the lamp from the baluster and continued up the staircase.

Could this be happening? Could Erik and I have finally come to that place where desire dethrones raison d'être, ushering in those secret erotic possibilities to our budding relationship? I clasped my hands around his neck and hid my nervousness by nuzzling his warm neck. Erik's pulse quickened when we reached the door to his bedroom at the hall's end.

Here, he used his free hand to open the door, then closed it from the other side with his foot.

I was carried over to the bed where he laid me down softly on an enormous bed adorned with lush velvet and satin covers the color of blood and gold.

We were both consenting adults and we wanted to pleasure one another, so why were we both so anxious? I don't believe it was fear. The anticipation of delight, the shyness of what is not known, and respect for where we had been; these were the cards on top of our deck.

Our eyes did the communicating—Erik's smoldering jade and my miss-mated green and brown eyes burned into each other's. I arched my neck and tugged down on his, a silent invitation for a kiss.

Erik dipped down to capture my lips. Gone was the harshness of the afternoon in the stable. His technique was soft and loving as he slowly enveloped my mouth with his. We played little kissing games, pecking and nipping at each other lightly. I scooted over on the bed to allow Erik more space to lie down. He moved his hand to the back of my head applying easy pressure, forcing our kissed to become more intimate. I urged his mouth open with the tip of my tongue. He obliged and our tongues caressed in a maddeningly slow, delicious dance.

Erik eased his right hand down the side of my face to my neck, stroking my shoulder blade with the tips of his fingers. My hands rested on his back, moving gently up and down in rhythm to our kisses. As our confidence increased so did the intensity of our ardor. Erik's kisses became more frenzied as his tongue darted in, out and around faster. Lovely little sounds of pleasure accompanied his breathing. His fingers skimmed my breasts and I reached up to grasp his hands urging him to continue.

I ran my fingers through his hair and lightly sucked on the side of his neck. He tasted and smelled divine. This man, this tall dark stranger from another time, this genius and artist, was a man who yearned for love and affection; love and affection that I had decided to lavish upon him.

When Erik pulled at the laces on my dress, I sat up and removed his hands.

"Wait Erik, I whispered."

"What?" he looked crestfallen.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to tell you to stop this time, not in the least," I smiled reassuringly. "When we were in the music room you told me that you wished to slowly undress me, and you may, however these dresses are a major pain to remove, perhaps you would enjoy it better if I disrobed for you?"

He rubbed his thumb over the dimple in his chin and furrowed his brow at me.

I rose up off of the bed and began to unbutton my dress. "Would a striptease please you monsieur?" I purred seductively.

Erik's face went blank. He blinked twice before grasping my proposal. A rakish smirk appeared on his lips, "yes Gabrielle, undress for _me_."

He sat at the edge of the bed, leaned back on his hands and watched as I unbuttoned my dress, letting it slip into a heap on the floor. I kicked it aside and slowly unlaced my corset. Thank goodness the damn thing was a front loader. I eyed Erik and licked my lips wantonly as I discarded the garment. All that stood between Erik's lustful eyes and my flesh was a thin silk chemise. I teased him shamelessly by fondling my nipples causing them to harden, and strain against the sheer white material.

It pleased me to see his expression darken and his breathing increase.

"Do you want me to remove this too?" I asked sweetly indicating the slip.

"If you do not act promptly, I shall rise from this bed and tear it from your body," he promised hoarsely.

I grabbed my undergarment by the front and pulled at it until it tore down the front exposing my breasts. "Consider it done."

I slowly peeled the rest of the garment from my torso, pausing just shy of my navel. I peered at Erik coyly from my lashes. "Shall I finish Monsieur?"

I noticed that Erik was beginning to perspire. Yes was all the man could manage.

Had a woman never undressed for him before?

Gingerly I slipped the slight undergarment from my hips yet clothing still graced my body. A black silk thong with fuchsia roses sewn onto the waistband remained; a relic from my future past, courtesy of Victoria's Secret's Angels collection.

Erik's body language showed me he was perplexed, but amused by my modern lingerie. He leaned forward on the bed and cocked his head in silent inquiry.

I flashed him a seductive smile, placed my hands on my behind and turned slowly to model the bit of fabric for my paramour, "A little something from the 21st century. Does it meet your approval?" I was enjoying the tease.

"Quite intriguing Gabrielle. Now off with it," he commanded brusquely.

I obeyed by hooking my thumbs under each side and sliding the thong to my ankles leaving my naked body exposed to his fiery stare.

There is something intense about unveiling yourself in front of a lover for the first time. A sort of vulnerability that says I am here for your approval; I am yours.

Erik stood and walked the few steps to stand in front of me. His eyes blazed with emotion; his beautiful mouth faintly slack with desire.

Our eyes met and locked. "Erik," I whispered breathlessly.

Slowly, his eyes devoured my nakedness, "Mon dieu. Gabrielle, you are exquisite."

Not one to approve of my own figure, I averted my eyes slightly and blushed. Thank you Monsieur.

"Do not thank me for with nature has blessed you with. I've not much experience in the course of amour, but having been in close proximity to dancers at the opera house, I have inadvertently seen many a naked body. Although none so close as to touch should I dare. You are lovely Mademoiselle."

I felt the heat of a blush creep onto my face. _How funny, I'm not really the blushing type._ _Did I blush everywhere?_

Erik stood back four or five feet from me. He still wore his lawn shirt and dark trousers. His appreciation of me was bolstered by an obvious and rather large erection straining at the wool crepe of his pants.

I felt silly just standing there so I approached Erik, He had replaced his mask by now, still not accustomed to feeling air on his face while in the company of others.

"Monsieur, I want another kiss," I demanded. He flashed me a come-hither smile and held his arms open for acceptance. Engulfing my mouth with fervor, his hands lightly skimmed over my body fondling my buttocks gently. Erik's hardness pressed into me. I moaned desperately. He paused, pulled back, "Have I injured you Gabrielle?"

"Huh…injured me?" I mumbled not clear of what he was asking.

"You moaned Gabrielle, I thought I might have been too harsh with my kisses."

"Oh _that_…I was expressing my pleasure for your touch. Maybe you have noticed your own expressions of pleasure, they are similar, only with a deeper timbre."

"I see," a self-conscious smile curved on Erik's lips.

"No fair Erik, you are still dressed and I am…well not."

I unbuttoned his white lawn shirt and pushed it from his shoulders. I had seen his back before when I'd massaged away aches and pains, but had never gotten a good look at Erik's chest.

He was exceptionally well muscled for a man of 46, but then Erik did not look a day over 36. I suppose living out of the aging rays of the sun all those years had preserved his completion. A spray of hair youthfully dark adorned his chest, trailing down into his trousers.

I placed my palms on his hest and ran them over his muscles admiringly. As I did so, I met his eyes and smiled appreciatively. A light tweak of Erik's nipples made him wince and gasp. I knew I had not hurt him; he was experiencing for the first time the sensation of erotic touch from the hands of a woman.

I bit my lips and consider his trousers. A wet spot graced the place where his sex strained for freedom. Not sure how to proceed with 19th century men's clothes, I fumbled briefly with his waistband before finding the buttons on the side. It took some effort to pop open the four buttons, but I managed to do it with out bumbling like a dork on prom night.

The offending pants slid from his narrow hips with ease, resisting briefly at his erection. After I freed him, Erik took over, shaking the trousers from his legs then unceremoniously kicking them across the floor.

Pale candlelight illuminated the room with a warm flattering glow, yet even in the darkness I could make out Erik's form. He was simply beautiful.

Sculpted and lean with light olive skin, he stood tall and majestic. What Mother Nature withheld from his visage, she more than made up for in other ways.

_You're not a little fellow are you Erik_, I marveled silently.

I cleared my throat, "Impressive darling."

This time Monsieur DuPuis blushed, a feat I never thought possible.

In a move that I found most primal, Erik swept me up once more and carried me back to his bed.

"What now my dear?" he growled at me hungrily.

I want to touch you and completely satisfy your needs. You know there are ways of pleasuring one another without consummating the relationship. You have communicated to me that you have honorable principles concerning virtue. Quite frankly, even thought I am from a very free society, I have never been a fan of allowing myself to be poked my every man who flirts with me.

Erik was circling my right nipple with the smooth palm of his hand while I talked. He was joyfully distracted, but as I finished, he spoke up. "If we are to have that sort of relationship, then let it progress as such Gabrielle, I do not wish to pressure you into any affections on my behalf. I cherish you and will be respectful of your wishes."

"My dreams are often filled with images from my unbounded imagination and the pages of erotic books such as the karma sutra. I have imagined many ways to bring forth and receive rapture should another human being ever risk intimacy with me."

He cupped my cheeks and murmured seductively, "Darling Gabrielle, I am sure we shall be able to find ways to entertain ourselves."

Dear lord. I felt the depths of my femininity clench with intense desire. Surrendering to his embrace, I kissed Erik as if trapped in an inferno and he was the cool water of my relief.

Long graceful fingers glided over me creating delicious chills to vibrated throughout my body.

One hand brushed through Erik's dark hair while the other lightly swept over his stomach and down to the tangle of dark hair below his navel. My fingers teased the soft flesh of his inner thigh. Erik tensed and gasped. His muscles soon relaxed while his breathing accelerated.

Erik stroked the inside of my leg in kind, I was so sensitized I thought I would come from his simple touch. I opened my legs enough to allow his probing fingers access. Erik surprised me by sitting up abruptly. His eyes were misty with longing when he asked me if he could look at me. "I have never seen a woman's sex before, pictures yes, but I want to know you and explore your secret garden of delights."

"Whatever you wish Erik, " I answered, my voice thick with desire.

He kissed me, then moved to position him self between my legs. I felt a bit self-conscious spreading my legs for him, but I quickly got over it when he ran a finger delicately over my soft folds of flesh. His face registered amazement as he explored me, sliding his fingers over the sensitive area. His insistent probing found the small bud hidden within. When he touched it I jumped.

"What did I do?"

"That's the most sensitive place on my entire body Erik, when you slide your finger over it gently or touch it, I experience the most exquisite pleasure a woman can experience.

"Ah he smiled knowingly, a perfect pearl within a fine oyster."

He tugged the outer lips apart revealing the wet pink pathway to nirvana."

This flicker of the small gas lamp cast mellow azure shadows across our bodies. I watched Erik's face study me with interest. He moved one of his graceful fingers into my wet warmth causing me to gasp and moan.

"Ummm Erik, yes, please more," I pleaded. He slipped another finger into me and begun pumping them in and out of me. My hips thrust to meet his motion. Eventually he had four fingers inside of me. I was writhing and undulating wildly against his hand. Erik began to slide his thumb over my wet bud. I gyrated against his hand.

Gabrielle, your sap is dripping from you. You are enjoying my ministrations, no?"

"You stop, I'll kill you," I rasped. He grinned and continued his torture.

The warm wave was coming. I closed my eyes tight. Sparks the color of fireworks danced behind my lids. Warm waves of sweet release washed over me again and again and again. I vaguely heard Erik's moan when my insides clenched around his fingers. When I had spent myself, I closed my thighs on his hand to squeeze the last bit of sensation from my body.

For all I knew I had crushed the virtuoso's fine fingers; I didn't care at that at point. Erik extracted his hand from between my legs and sat up to look at me. "My you're a strong little thing aren't you? Were you pleased Gabrielle?"

"No," I panted, I hated it. Do it again."

He laughed heartily, one of the few times I had heard that rich resonant sound from Erik's lips. It was divine music.

"Attentions such as yours must be rewarded Monsieur. On your back now!" I ordered with a sly grin.

He obliged, moving onto is back and arranging himself comfortably among the plush down pillows.

I began at his lips, slowly laving his lips with my tongue; I kissed every inch of the man's face, eyelids, nose, scars and all then moved to his neck. Gabrielle, you vixen he moaned when I nibbled on his ear. _Note to self; Erik had sensitive ear lobes._

His neck received a generous licking, as did his collarbone and nipples. He especially enjoyed having his nipples sucked on. I had heard that a man's are more responsive than a woman's. If this is so then I must have been driving him wonderfully mad.

The taught belly that bore only slight signs of softness was my next target. I drew circles with the tip of my tongue around his navel and hipbones. He twitched when I touched his hipbone.

"I think you may have just tickled me but I can't be sure. No one had ever tried before," he seemed amazed.

_How sad that there had been no a playful parent or ornery sibling to joke about with the little boy. _

I eased my way further down in the bed and flicked my tongue over his inner thighs and up toward his sex. Erik was standing at full attention above my head. I _had_ to touch him. He was magnificent. I laughed to myself when I thought of a line I had once read in one of those putrid dime store romance novels_. She took his throbbing manhood in her hand and stroked it._

Well it _did _seem like a winning idea. I kissed the tip. A startled cry of ecstasy tumbled from his mouth. "Gabrielle, Gabrielle you temptress, you tease me so.

I responded by smoothing the liquid that had seeped from him as a lubricant for my touch. While I slid my fingers up and down over his length, he grew larger and harder. Erik reached down and placed his hand over mine to show me how he wished to be touched. I mirrored his grip and speed and worked my magic on him. Faster and faster my hand moved to match his breathing and thrusting. Erik's moaning increased as my other hand cupped him from below. In an instant he stiffened. I felt him contract and looked around for something to catch his release with. I did not want to see his lavish bedclothes soiled. Seeing nothing at all for such a use, I wrapped my mouth around him. I had hoped to save this fun for another session, but hey, a Mademoiselle's gotta do what a Mademoiselle's gotta do.

A primal, dark sound came from deep inside of Erik. It was as if he were releasing years of sexual frustration in this one quick, substantial release.

Both our bodies shone with sweat and invisible pheromones permeated the air around us. I moved He was still panting heavily when I crept up to lay my head on his chest. One muscled arm flopped over me, the other one rested above his head on a pillow.

Here we were, two lost souls finding one another in the most unlikely of circumstances. Soothing hurts, fears and loneliness with mutual contact and affection. If our relationship were to change, let it be for the better, I prayed, because for people of extreme passion like Erik and I, we were past the point of no return.

- o -

_**Finally a little action for our M. Dupuis. It is only the beginning for our passionate friend. Thank you all for your feedback. It encourages me and makes me a better storyteller. KayBlueEyes, you rock! Mbin, I respect Laroux but am not interested in totally ugly Erik either; mamsellejenelle, gotta love that Chaucer; BelacanionTheRez, I bid you welcome; Pertie, little Daae323 and Dunny, I hope you enjoyed the lovin'. There will be more to come. - Leesa**_


	18. Ch 18 après the Pleasure

_**Thank you all for your reviews and constructive input. Welcome newbies and lurkers too. There is an author's note to follow. You're why I do this stuff, besides the fun of writing about the enigmatic Erik of course. This is another M chapter too so BEWARE! - Leesainthesky**_

Re-cap: Erik and Gabrielle finally reveal their deeper feelings for one another and spend a passionate night together in Erik's bed…

**Ch 18 – après le plaisir**

There is a radiant, heady peace that envelopes new lovers after a night of intimacy. It is the finest part of any day.

Rising early to make breakfast for the household is not. If not for Caron, the Roux's would typically break-fast in their cottage. Erik seldom required a morning meal due to his late sleeping habits, however today he would be traveling to London.

Another frosty winter day breathed on the manor house. We were snuggled into the warm luxury of Erik's fine bed linins. _Perfect, I finally have a compelling reason to stay in bed and I must feed the household...well f--k," I thought. _

Extracting myself from a pair of masculine arms wasn't something I relished on this particular morning. Erik lay on his left side. His left arm was behind my neck and his right across my torso. I assumed he slept on his left side because lying on the leather mask would be uncomfortable.

The brass alarm clock on my nightstand ticked steadily. The velvet draperies in Erik's room were closed so there was little light. I could barely discern that it was slightly after dawn—6:47 to be exact. If I served yogurt and granola with a bit of smoked beef, or croissants from yesterday, I could sleep for another hour and one half. Yippee.

I shifted my right arm, which was numb from being around Erik for what I assumed to be most of the night. When I did, he mumbled and turned on his back, but did not wake.

In the repose of slumber, Erik looked exceptionally young. The visible side of his face was calm and relaxed with a shadow of a beard forming on his handsome jaw line. I admired his features, the dark eyebrow, long lashes and full rosy lips. His hair was uncharacteristically mussed from sleep. The slumbering was Erik adorable, a label I am sure he would have found _truly and utterly unsuitable Madame Gabrielle! _

I marveled at this wonder beside me; at who he was, what he was and what he knew. His talent would become unprecedented; his alter ego legendary. Would I be instrumental in making sure his legacy was one of purpose and pride? Had I come here to be his advocate and avenger? Who knew, but I intended to do my part in preserving the legacy of Monsieur Erik DuPuis as a positive one. This was of course for Erik's sake, but it was also for me. I needed to believe God had a useful purpose for my new life.

I was starring at the ornate plaster ceiling and pontificating life when I felt him nuzzle my neck. He breathed good morning to me, his voice a melodious haze. I closed my eyes and smiled with contentment.

"God morning yourself Monsieur Dupuis," I murmured turning to face him. _Yarks, I hope I don't look like a troll,_ I worried like a giddy girl.

"I'm sure I look mess."

"You look like a goddess to me Gabrielle," His smile was sincere. He kissed me lovingly on the lips and pulled back to admire me once more.

"A goddess, me? I'd hate to see the other women you've woken up with."

Erik averted his eyes and reclined back into the pillows. His sweet expression turned hard.

It was evident he was perturbed about something I'd said, but what? With Erik, it was always a guessing game of emotions. Unsure of how to respond to his swift turnabout I reached up to stroke his shoulder. My nervousness evident by the way I bit my bottom lip.

"Erik, what is it? If I said something wrong, it was unintentional."

He continued to glare into space.

With a sigh I rested my head on his chest and closed my eyes, "I was afraid of this— that once we became intimate you might pull away from me. Last night was so…wonderful, so surreal. I'd hoped it would last."

Erik shifted. I thought he was going to get up, but he merely changed positions on the mass of pillows, turning his head in my direction once more. I felt the gentle touch of his hand smoothing over my hair.

His chin quivered when he spoke. When he sopke his voice emotedfury mixd withpain, "No other woman has had the courage to lay with me Gabrielle; yours is the first and only warm body ever to share my bed."

Of course, how insensitive of me not to consider the elemental details of Erik's life, I had forgotten that the man whose body I craved lived his entire life as a rejected recluse. Erik's antiquated society was overflowing with ignorant and shallow women who did not care about a man's character as much as they did his visage or his breeding. Anger snaked through my veins icily, depositing itself in my heart.

The pumping of his own life force beat an erratic rhythm from his chest to my ear. I kissed the skin covering his sternum, and then I kissed his nipple. He drew in a sharp breath and curled both arms around me snugly.

"If you'd shared that fact with me before last night Erik, I would have been nervous wondering if I could live up to your expectations as a lover— maybe it's a good thing I didn't know until now," I said as I drew circles around his other nipple.

"_My_ expectations?" he snorted. "I was frightened to touch you for fear you might break. I know nothing ofa woman's physical desires other than what I have learned from books. I could recite an anatomy lesson or describe my fantasies, but to actually touch a woman's softness, well…let's just say that my abhorrent face had denied me such pleasures."

"Last night you were my maestro," I purred into his neck, "You found all of the right places to caress and kiss me. Then there are your magic hands. Oh god Erik, If I don't stop thinking about what you did to me last night, I will never get out of this bed to make breakfast today."

I felt his erection twitch against my leg.

Slipping from his arms, I kissed my way downward to his stomach and circled his navel with my tongue, tickling and teasing. Erik writhed in pleasure at the contact. I pushed the covers down past his hips for better access to my intended target.

There it was, beautifully engorged and moving slightly in my direction as if it were a living diving rod. Erik could not see what was about to take place below his reclined torso.

I smiled and blew on his sex lightly. He groaned something unintelligible. My wet lips caressed the rather large tip, kissing and licking the dew gathered there. Without warning I plunged him deep into my mouth, suckling enthusiastically.

Erik writhed and moaned like he was losing his mind. The sheet next to him was wadded up tightly in his fists and his head thrashed from side to side in ecstasy—just the precise reaction I had hoped for.

Faster and faster I drove him in and out of my mouth, working the tip of my tongue against the smooth ridge for added effect.

Erik pushed against my mouth, insistent for more. He filled me so fully thatI was beginning to tire, but I dared not stop. When I sucked harder a low feral growl emerged from his throat. His release started to flutter against my tongue. The flutter quickened to a pulsing, hot surge, "Gabrielle—oh Gabrielle, oh god, oh god…" His pleadings dissolved into shouts of rapture.

I savored him. The way he looked and sounded—his smell and his taste.

Spent, Erik's body relaxed into a puddle of muscle, sinew and bone into the bedclothes.

Gently he pulled me forward by my arms, resting me against his chest. He was still breathing considerably when he whispered in my ear, "You vixen, you have introduced me to something I may well love better than my music."

"Then I trust my place in this house will be safe, at least until you tire of me my good monsieur?" I breathed back.

"At least, but I shall never tire of you."

I smiled contentedly and snuggled into his warmth, "Did your enjoy your morning exercise Erik?"

"Hummm, indeed. Did you enjoy your breakfast Gabrielle?"

A dainty giggle escaped my lips, "a epicurean delight."

"If that's the way you feel my darling, then I must indulge you every morning," he smirked with a devilish twinkle in his eyes.

I pushed my self up and propped on one elbow. I smiled back and cocked an eyebrow at him, "Really now, you are a generous man aren't you?" I attacked his lips before he could continue our tête-à-tête.

_Oh my, I thought, what have you gotten yourself into Gabrielle?_

I wouldn't exactly call it a Pandora's box that had been opened; after all, that was a tragedy for the Greeks. There was nothing evil or unpleasant about what Erik and I had discovered together.

By all accounts Erik was a man wired for monogamy, the only sort of relationship I was interested in too. But one must consider what living a life of celibacy without fair reason is like. Certainly this torment was what inspired him artistically. Erik DuPuis' searing, tragic and darkly provocative music is what made him the most passionate of all the composers of his day. His compositions also had a modern angst-ness to them—one of the very reasons the composer's musicstimulated me so.

As we lay in his generous bed, I wondered if he too were pondering _what next? _I had never slept with a man from the 19th century before. What was the proper etiquette? Even thought Erik was not what one would call typical, there had to be uniform precepts from his time that even he would adhere to.

As for me, I hadn't had a lot of experience with multiple lovers. In high school and college I'd been too preoccupied with music and work to be much of a player. When I was younger, I was outwardly shy, not too many guys were beating down my door. Lots of studying and artistic pursuits could earn you the geek-girl label too. I did manage to have lots of male friends.

Finally ensconced in the diverse university culture, I met a man who found me more interesting than the typical collegiate Muff's.

Mark and I experimented around sexually, but I had this unpopular idea that I wanted to wait until marriage before I gave up the goods. Maybe I _just knew_ that he wouldn't be around long. We talked about getting married some, but he moved to Seattle, I stayed in Chicago and that was that. I dated around, but the early days of my journalistic career were spent moving from one broadcast market to another. I didn't have a chance to get close to anyone in particular.

There was this un-glorified one-night stand the summer of my internship in Europe. I was an assistant news writer for the BBC in London. Josh was an A & R (Artist and repertoire) guy from Warner Bros. We had met at a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert and attended the after party where we both got extraordinarily slammed.

The final stop of the evening was back in my flat. The sex was not memorable; talk about a minuteman. He said he would call. I told him not to do me any favors. Men always promise to call you soon, but they seldom do, wankers. God forbid a romantic attachment might challenging a man's freedom before he decided if he wanted to bed you again. Thenext dayIremember having an incredible hangover and a case of the skank blues.

Threr were a few other semi-serious boyfriends since then. An enormous amount of messing around and heavy breathing went on in those days. Then along came Tony.Our attraction to each other was instant and fierce. I fell fast and hard. Tony did love me, but heloved sexualvariety more.

At least I was free from the worry of whether or not Erik wouldcall me the next day or if he wouldbesneaking out of bed to make an early escape. He lived here, plus technology was still a few years away from the personal telephone.

Being wrapped in his protective embrace was the first true peace I'd felt since arriving here seven months ago.

"Gabrielle, as much as I loathe removing myself from the bliss of your soft warm body, I must rise. There is much preparation to be done before my departure for England today," Erik explained ruefully.

I caressed his left cheek and kissed the divot on his chin, "I know Erik, and I have got to get going on breakfast. It wouldn't look good for the cook to be the last one out of bed while the household starves."

No one moved. I believe it was discomfort as well as comfort that kept us immobilized. I imagined walking around naked in front of a woman was not something Erik was accustomed to. Because of his gentlemanly modesty, I too felt awkward about exposing myself for the three or four feet I needed to walk to fetch my clothing.

Oh to hell with shyness, I had to get up, someone needed to initiate this, if not, one of us would kiss the other and we'd be off to the races again. By then it would be so late that the entire household would have guessed where the two of us were and what we were doing.

I looked around for where my chemise landed last night. It was wadded up several feet from the right side of the bed. In one swift motion I threw the covers from my body and sprang forward.

Erik rolled fully onto his right side and propped up on his elbow. As I strode to my pick up chemise I knew a pair of intense jade eyes were ogling my backside. Ever so gracefully I knelt to pick up the slip, turned around and held it at my waist_. Might as well give him another look at my breasts before shutting down the peep show for the day._ He smiled appreciatively, his eyes roving over my chest then back to my eyes with a look of approval.

I slipped the garment over my head and shook out my tangled hair, "Erik, it's a good idea for you to exit the room before I do, that way you can check to see if the hallway is clear, otherwise, I might run headlong into a most embarrassed Caron Spencer."

"I suppose you are correct Gabrielle, although it would be humorous to see the look on her mother's face when she mentions her scandalous discovery," he smirked wickedly.

"You are the little mischief maker aren't you? Aren't you the one who instructed me not to irritate Mdm. Roux? Besides, there's my reputation to think of," I was teasing of course, but he appeared to consider my suggestion seriously.

"Yes Gabrielle, you are correct. Forgive me for being so inconsiderate. You've done nothing improper here with me. I would not wish to cause you undue embarrassment."

He rose from the bed, his form hidden somewhat in the darkened room. Turning from me, he walked to his armoire.

Naked, Erik appeared even taller than when fully clothed. His lean muscled form was difficult not to stare at. The man had an exquisite bottom. _What in the hell was wrong with the women around here?_ I wondered. He is romantic, talented and in possession of a crushing charisma difficult to deny. After just one night of love play I had learned that Erik was also a most devoted lover.

I stared shamelessly. Erik opened the armoire and drew out a black silk robe lined with gold. Of course Monsieur DuPuis had elegant and expensive taste in lounge wear. He threw the robe around his body and tied it hastily. When he turned back around I had slipped all of my clothing back on and stood waiting for him to proceed from the room so I could return to mine at the opposite end of the hall.

If I intended to make it down to the kitchen before the others woke, I had to move.

I watched Erik run his hands through his hair in an attempt to put some order to it. His actions were confidant yet bashful. He strode over to me, the handsome silk robe swirling around his ankles. But when he stopped in front of me, he placed his hands lightly on the sides of my face and spoke softly, "Gabrielle, I hate to leave you today, I would much rather spend the next week in this bed getting to know you better, but go I must. Eugene requires my expertise in explaining a new design concept to our client."

"I know Erik. Hey, you could take me with you! I would love to go somewhere—anywhere with you. I'd sure like to see some place beside Paris too."

"Mon cher, I would be delighted to have you accompany me, however you have quests to cook for and entertain. It would be rude to abandon Caron."

"Damn it Erik, do you have to be so logical?"

"You know I am right. And Gabrielle?"

"Yes Erik?"

"Stop cursing darling, it is coarse."

"Bite me."

"I very well may you incorrigible wench," he playfully nipped the bottom of my lip and went to the door.

"The manor is still as death Gabrielle, I think you may proceed to your room undiscovered," he instructed while peering into the darkened hallway.

I waited until Erik had made it to the water closet before I eked out into the hall. I closed his door carefully then tip toed toward my room.

No sooner had my hand touched the doorknob than I heard the door to Caron's room open behind me. "Gabrielle, where have you been?" She asked expectantly.

**- o -**

_Nosey wench eh? Breakfast gets interesting then it's off to paris for a little clubbing! in the next two chappies._

_To myreviewers Hestia, PrincessPersephone, asow007, Dunny, The faithful and talented KayeBlueEyes, and Padfoot's niece, (The killdares? Cool) Thank you! for taking the time! Now you readingright now, review for me please, just a short note will do._

_-Leesa_


	19. Ch 19 Precipice of Doubt

_Author's note: Thanks to you all for reading my story. I noticed readership dropped for the last two chapters; they were the hot ones too. If you feel the material was inappropriate in any way, please let me know immediately. Otherwise, please pop a review in so I know you're out there! _

_Merci beaucoup_– _Leesa _

**Re-cap: Erik prepares to leave for London. Caron gets nosey.**

**Ch 19 – Precipice of Doubt**

_No sooner had my hand touched the doorknob than I heard the door to Caron's room open behind me. "Gabrielle, where have you been?" She asked expectantly..._

"…I needed some oil for my bedside lamp so I could see to use the WC. When I knocked on your door, no one answered. I entered to borrow your lamp rather than wake you with my worries, but when I saw that your bed had not been slept in, I became worried. But, here you are! Why are you wearing the same clothes from yesterday?" The ingénue cocked her head and looked at me in that Jessica Simpson deer-in-the-headlights sort of way.

"Um, I didn't sleep in my bed last night, Caron."

"Oh, where were you then?"

I just looked at her.

"You couldn't mean…oh my! Gabrielle, I didn't think you and Monsieur DuPuis were …"

"Shhh," I put my finger to my lips. "Do have some prudence dear. And no, my virtue is intact if you must know." _Why should I tell her any different? The relationship between Erik and I was not an easy one to explain. I'm not sure I fully understood it._

"Caron, I will have breakfast ready in one hour. Are you very hungry?"

She looked surprised by the sudden change of subject, "No, not exceptionally, toast and tea will do."

"Very well, then I'll keep it light if you think that will agree with your parents too."

"I am sure Mama and Papa will not mind. Since they have gotten older, they no longer partake of a hearty early meal."

"Good then, I'll see you in one hour." I dismissed myself, hurriedly disappearing into my room.

Breakfast consisted of croissants still fresh from yesterday, jam, and cheese. Caron took Earl Grey tea, the Roux's and Monsieur Dupuis, their preferred French roast café au lait.

I was in such a thither trying to pull something together before people came to the table, I barely had time to consider what the vibe between Erik and I would be after our nocturnal expedition to the Isle of Lust.

I was scurrying around the table pouring hot beverages and providing more croissants for the hungry few when the lord of the manor finally arrived.

I didn't notice when Erik took his place at the table until I heard Monsieur Roux bluster, "A fine morning to you Monsieur Dupuis."

"And to you Henri," Erik greeted the elder man pleasantly.

"I noticed you burning the midnight oil last night. I trust you eschewed slumber for more creative pursuits, eh?"

I whipped around faster than necessary and came close to sloshing hot coffee on myself. Unruffled, Erik shrugged off Henri's comment with a wave of his hand, "Yes Henri, you know me well to have learned that I prefer composing to sleeping. It is one of the few pursuits I find most pleasurable." The last two words were drawn out in perfect enunciation while he looked directly at me.

_Dear lord, Erik, how about some subtly_. I felt the warm curse of a blush materializing on my cheeks. I quickly turned away and headed to the kitchen for more Croissants.

Caron, of course, caught the fleeting exchange. She excused herself and joined me in the kitchen. "Gabrielle, forgive me for asking," she whispered, "But, I cannot help my curiosity. I saw the way he looked at you. Do not tell me that nothing of a physical nature has transpired between the two of you. I am not so naïve. Do be careful. Monsieur DuPuis is a strange man."

She seemed more concerned for my welfare than nosy, but I still rather resented the young woman's prying manner.

"Now look here, Caron, Monsieur DuPuis and I are friends and we often stay up late into the evening discussing music and literature. I went to university. I find there are few men who think enough of my intellect as a woman to engage me as Erik will, and for that I am grateful."

"But, you were in Monsieur DuPuis' _room,_ Gabrielle."

"Caron, really, this conversation is over, _fini._"

I strode haughtily back to the dining room and announced that if no one had any more breakfast requests, I would be clearing the table.

The Roux's had already excused themselves. Through the kitchen window I had noticed Henri walking to the stables. I assumed he was off to prepare the brougham for chauffeuring Erik to the train station.

Caron resumed her place at the dining table. She smiled weakly at me as I worked around her clearing the dishes. I chose to ignore her. Erik requested another cup of cafe au lait, and I coolly approached him with the coffee. As I stood by to refill his cup, his hand crept up my leg, coming to rest lightly on my bottom while I continued to pour.

Damn man. A little taste of tushy and I was fair game. This both pleased and angered me because I did enjoy his attentions, but did not know how I felt about having him take such free liberties with me. I accidentally sloshed a small amount of coffee in his lap, not enough to burn, but enough to get his attentions off of my posterior.

"Oh, Monsieur Dupuis, forgive me. Where is my mind this morning?"

I grabbed another napkin form the table and tossed it at his crotch, "Please tell me I did not burn you!" I wailed with concern.

After making sure his manhood was not injured, he looked up at me with foreboding,

"Madame Thomassen, you really must be more careful with such hot liquids. Where is your mind, woman? What manner of activity kept you from proper sleep last night that you do not know your mind this morning? Perhaps you should finish the dishes and retire for a nap."

"Forgive me, Monsieur. You are correct in guessing that I could not sleep last night. I was having the most surreal dreams after we finished our stimulating conversation. And I do concur with your point about the yanks being so puritanical in their laws. Not allowing women to use contraception is irrational. It's good that the French are more open minded about family planning choices. Don't you agree, Caron dear?" I smiled quizzically at her.

Caron held onto her teacup possessively. "Uh, I suppose…I am sorry that I do not know enough on the subject to be a good conversationalist, Gabrielle."

"Of course you know that the French allow birth control, that is unless you are Catholic. In America a new law has been passed where all attempts to stop conception have been outlawed. I think a man by the name of Comstock introduced it. I may even be related to the misogynist. Of course, you and Monsieur Spencer must be planning lots and lots of babies since there is a need for an heir from the Spencer's only boy. But, I am sure you will make a really excellent mother."

Her mouth was gaping open and her cheeks were a brilliant crimson. I had embarrassed her well and good.

I glanced back to see Erik's incredulous expression.

"Dear me, I am embarrassing you, aren't I? Forgive me for being impolite. This truly is not conversation for a meal is it? I'll go now."

I retired to the kitchen chuckling and feeling slightly naughty.

With the dishes done I made a decision to go for a short walk around the grounds. The day was cold and clear, the sort that leaves you feeling purified by simply breathing.

M.Roux was putting the tack on the horses. "Well, hello there, my dear, lovely day for a winter one, is it not?" Henri greeted me cheerfully.

"Not too bad. Having the sun out reduces the chill somewhat. I needed fresh air to clear the indoor cobwebs from my lungs, you know?"

"Yes indeed," he agreed.

We stood chit chatting banally for a few more moments, before I breached the subject,

"Henri, how long have you known M. Dupuis?"

He looked up as if searching for the answer. "Let's see, Marie an I came to work for him…it's been four years now. My, how life flies by as one ages," he chuckled.

"Why do you ask Dear?"

"Caron told me she thought he was strange—to be careful a round him. What do you think she meant by that, Henri?"

"Well," he began, while continuing to tack up the horses, "Caron has led a sheltered life, and she has not witnessed too many unusual characters, save the ones in Marie's family. When we first came to the manor, Caron was only seventeen.

In those days M. DuPuis rarely spoke to anyone unless it was a gruff order. He hid from sight, mostly in his music room. There were nights when nothing would come out of that room but terrible, twisted notes. Caron called it angry music, like when you go to an opera and there is death on the stage she said. I think his countenance frightened her.

There were rumors too—ones you might as well know even thought Marie would not like it if she knew I was stirring the gossip pot. Sooner or later someone you will meet someone who will learn of your employment here and question you.

There is mystery around M. DuPuis' past. He has no family and no one in Paris knows of his origins. The mask, it frightens many, too. First it startles, then people begin to speculate about what lies beneath. The superstitious call him a demon in hiding. Those are the rumors, of course.

Over the years, I have seen him emerge from hopelessness and become a man of reconciled abandonment. Mostly, he is a talented, lonely genius with a shattered heart; that is all. I don't believe him to be dangerous, Gabrielle; he will not cross someone unless they betray him. That I know for certain.

I remained despondently silent.

"Madame? I can see that you care for M.Dupuis. You needn't be sad for him. He is well respected as an artist and composer. He has wealth and loyal friends in the Giry's and a Persian gentleman who visits from time to time. And then there is you."

_Huh? _My attempt at appearing nonplused failed. M.Roux smiled and nodded his head. "Yes, dear, you cannot fool an old fool. I have watched the two of you grow more comfortable over the months. He has never in the years I have been in his employee engaged another person as much as he engages you."

"But, Henri, I am in the house more than anyone, don't you think that's only natural?"

He smiled knowingly, "Gabrielle, dear, Erik _smiles_ when you are near, that is not natural for him."

I couldn't help but let a slight grin play on my lips.

"Ah, and so it is as I thought."

My eyes met his; they were kind and understanding, not worried like his daughters expression earlier at breakfast.

"You know you are good for him, perhaps he will even learn to love again."

Back in my room, I ruminated on Henri's words. Good for him? Learn to love again? What could all of this double speak mean? Erik rarely shared himself with me. Oh, I knew of his tragic past, but what did I know of him? How did he react in times of adversity, despair or need? I dared not assume anything right now.

From below my window, I heard a commotion. It sounded as if a vehicle were coming into the stable area. I drew the draperies aside to see who was visiting.

My heart sank. No one was arriving; Erik was leaving. Why hadn't even told me good-bye?

Stricken with bewilderment, all I could do was stare as the horses carried his brougham out of view.

"A$$-hole," I whispered tearfully at the window. Erik wasn't the only person in the world with a raw heart. Didn't' he know that after what I had told him of Tony's duplicity?

It seemed that men are not much different from century to century. At least most modern men would pretend to care enough to tell you good-bye after you spent a night in their bed.

I couldn't decide which was worse, blatant indifference, or a pretty lie?

Tomorrow evening Caron and I would descend on Paris as a dashing Parisian couple. I was more determined than ever to indulge in my rebellion. If I had to be stuck in this whacked out century, bereft of any loved ones, I was going to get my party _on_!

**- O -**

**_On to Paris next! I wish to thank my Beta 'Chelly and also Nico for their insight and inspiration. A big kiss to all who have read and reviewed._**

_**-Leesa**_


	20. Ch 20 The Giry's

_This is a short chapter. Adventure is on the way! Thanks for reading and reviewing my lovies. –Leesainthesky. _

_**Ch. 20 - The Giry's** _

**Re-cap: Erik leaves without saying goodbye. The girls finally get to Paris.**

_The next day, Madame Caron Spencer and I headed for Paris. Her father, Monsieur Roux, chauffeured us to the Giry's small, fashionable flat on the bd. de la Madeleine, near the Opera Garnier_.

Friday afternoon in Paris is like the entrance to the weekend in any metropolitan city in any time line. The streets will full of shoppers scurrying home with their newly purchased wares, as shopkeepers swept the sidewalks in preparation of the workday's end.

Many of the café's we passed by were already occupied with citizens getting a jump on their weekend revelries.

One thing you can say about Parisians, they love to party. The Bourgeois class expected to be entertained, but, thanks to a new class of composers like Wagner, they now had to _think_ about their music. No one relished a long evening of slogging through an intricate score when the lighter fare of the new music halls was available for their amusement.

Yes, meeting Caron's relatives fascinated me. These were the women who knew my dear employer and paramour, Erik Dupuis, better than perhaps, anyone alive.

The Giry's were charming women, who welcomed me into their home with gracious warmth. Meg had been a prima ballerina at the Opera Garnier, before becoming engaged to a Baron or Marquis whose name I believe is something de Lille. A lavish wedding had been set for late September. Meg's mother, Madame Giry, continued as the ballet's head mistress at the opera, post reconstruction, after the mysterious fire, in 1871.

Caron and Meg took up with each other instantly, chattering about Meg's impending marriage to a titled man, while Madame Giry showed me to the sleeping quarters I was to share with Caron.

As much as I looked forward to meeting people, I felt awkward around these new acquaintances. What if I said or did something totally out of character for the 19th century? Would they think I was a loon? I pretended to be fatigued, opting for a pre-supper nap, rather than polite conversation.

Supper that evening was simple and delicious. It was just we girls, as the Marquis de Lille was overseeing the remodeling of his estate at Pontoise, in the North of France.

When I entered the Giry's small dining room, I noticed the white and gold brocade draperies were drawn, allowing entrance to the golden winter sunshine. An exquisite silver coffee service sat on the French-country style lowboy. A matching table was dressed with an embroidered tablecloth, where red greenhouse carnations graced the center. The walls were tastefully adorned with a few paintings in the style of the artist, Manet.

The ladies had prepared the evening meal themselves, serving us a hearty lamb stew, fresh bread, and delicious custard for desert.

Weddings, the Ballet and Caron's husband-less existence in England made for polite dining conversation. Being the new kid at the table, I knew talk would eventually turn my way. Because our hostesses had proven themselves to be unassuming and pleasant, my earlier trepidation melted considerably.

"Madame Giry, this stew is delicious, I must have your recipe, that is, if you will let go of it," I commented.

"Certainly, you may have the recipe dear, it is nothing really, just meat, vegetables and a few herbs."

"Well I'm sure Monsieur Dupuis would enjoy this very much. He not a voracious eater, but he is particular about his food. Why, I've even had success slipping in an American dish from time to time. He has learned to trust my choices…after some arm twisting," I chuckled.

Madame Giry and Meg exchanged wary glances across the table.

"Monsieur DuPuis used to be quite rigid, I am surprised he allows you to deviate from familiar French fare," Madame Giry replied.

"Oh at first it was very interesting indeed." I amused her with the white bean chili affair.

Meg eyes widened with amusement, her mother sat and listened with a restrained smile. Perhaps she didn't believe me, or, perhaps she found the account beyond belief.

Madame Giry smoothed the tablecloth next to her plate as she spoke, "Gabrielle, it seems that Erik finds you agreeable. That is most fortunate. How long do you plan to stay at his manor, before moving on to other pursuits?"

"Actually, I have no immediate plans to leave the manor. It is true that Monsieur DuPuis and I are not related—I am simply the widowed niece of his architectural partner and friend, and I realize custom dictates that I soon find a new husband, or lodging elsewhere. The truth is, Madame Giry, I have nowhere else to go. My family in American is gone, I know no one here, except for Eugene and his wife, and they already have their hands full with four little ones.

She shook her head in empathy, while continuing to eat.

"Monsieur Dupuis and I have a sound understanding. He refuses to have another person cook for him. Plus, he pays well, and does not bother me."

_Bothering is a relative term, I thought to myself, thinking back on our recent bedroom romp. _

"He is not as volatile as he once was, Auntie," Caron offered. "In truth, Monsieur DuPuis has become more personable than I have ever witnessed. Even though he still spends a great deal of time in his library reading, or, in his music room composing and playing his piano., He will venture into the rest of the house, or the stables to engage Papa or Mamma in conversation. Remember how melancholy Monsieur had become, in that resigned sort of way? Why, he even entertained me with some of his magic tricks. It was delightful, actually."

"No, Monsieur DuPuis? Really? Caron, are you sure we are speaking of the same man?" Exclaimed Meg.

"Oui, he is still a tad odd, but I suppose that is the man's character," Caron giggled. "Did Gabrielle tell you that she has one of those Spanish guitars? You should hear the two of them play. Mama says they spend hours together some nights. Isn't that correct Gabrielle?"

Caron's revelations nearly caused me to choke on a spoonful of custard, "Why, yes. Erik— yes, we are on a first name basis, is teaching me a lot about music, and I am teaching him about the guitar. I think it must be the only instrument he knows little about."

"Then it is a blessing for you both. I am pleased to find that you and Erik can get along. He and I have been friends for many years, Gabrielle. He has endured a most difficult life and can be difficult himself. I trust you are patient with his…moods?"

"Madame Giry, he has told me much of his unfortunate past. Not all of it I am certain, but enough for me to understand how twisted his view of society must be. I am cautious of his volatility, but you needn't worry, I am not a frightened little ingénue."

Madame Giry eyeballed me curiously, but did not respond.

"Madame, I feel it would serve me well to know more about my employer, what can you tell me of his past?"

She placed her utensils down and addressed me, "Dear, I imagine Erik would not want me violating his trust by speaking of his past. I will tell you that all of his life, his deformity prompted others to treat him as less than human. Were you aware Erik's very mother was first to deny him? When one's life begins without normal maternal love, how can one learn to think and to reason as a normal person does? This is how you begin to understand the psyche of Erik's tortured genius."

I looked down at my plate ruefully, "A mother not loving her child is inexcusable in my book—a true crime of humanity. It's a wonder that Erik can speak a civil word to any biped on the planet, Madame. I do try to be patient with his moroseness, and I'll take your wisdom to heart. Poor man, he never learned to cope with rejection did he? He must be much improved now—what with having a partner and visiting various clients and opera managers to procure work. I know strangers still make him nervous, but at least he's moving forward with his life, r Right?"

"It seems as such dear, and it is good to remember your patience when his temper prevails. There is a lot Erik does not understand about the kind side of human nature," Madame Giry's said soberly.

Our departure the following afternoon was punctuated with tearful hugs and promises to write soon. I thanked the Giry's for their hospitality and promised to visit again soon. Finally, Caron and I rode off in our rented carriage, to the hotel Le Relais du Louvre—to adventure!

**- O -**

_**Please review. Stay tuned for more Erik!** _


	21. Ch 21 Wine, Song, Problem

**Re-cap: Gabrielle and Caron finally make it to Paris for their night on the town.Ch. 21 – Wine, Song, Problem**

_**Re-cap: Gabrielle and Caron finally make it to Paris for their night on the town.**_

_**Uh, oh. In the words of my sister in pfan-fiction, Kay blue Eyes, the $--t may have just hit the proverbial fan. Regular reviewers and lurkers as well, please let me know what you think of this chapter. Thank you for staying with me.**_

_**FYI: This story will be finished and the endings will be positive.**_

_**- Leesa**_

_A broadside originally was sung to a well-known tune. Broadsides were popular in Britain, Holland, France, Italy, Spain and Germany and later in America. This one, Woman never knows when her day's work's done, was popularized in the mid to late 1800's by Lesley Nelson-Burns._

_soirée grande: Grand celebration_**Ch. 21 – Wine, Song, Problem**

The Hotel was stunning in her old world simplicity. She was a tiny Mademoiselle, dressed in fine marble, crystal and mahogany. Near the right bank of the Seine, Le Relais was within walking distance of many renowned places of interest, including the Louvre, and the church of St-Germain-l'Auxerrois.

Check in was interesting because we were two women. The desk clerk questioned where our husbands were. We assured the stuffy man that we were married sisters whose husbands would be joining us later in the evening. Not that he would refuse us our room keys, but we had to leave a substantial deposit to ensure our bill would be paid. Women, except for wealthy heiresses, had little money of their own in those days.

Our suite was elegantly decorated in ornate French provincial furnishings. The color scheme consisted of soothing cream, mint green, and rose. A bouquet of fresh flowers added cheer and fragrance to our grand digs.

No sooner had we unlocked the door and put down our bags than I ran to jump on the bed. "Free at last, free at last!" I cried, bouncing around.

Caron considered me quizzically, "Did you not enjoy your visit with Aunt Giry and Cousin Meg, Gabrielle?"

"Sure, I just get to feeling stifled holed up at the manor house all the time. Don't you ever feel like a kept woman, having to answer to your in-laws or your husband for every little need and desire?"

"No, not particularly, it is the custom to serve your husband. He is the lord of the house. Men always know what is best. Women are not always trusted to logic."

I bounced up into the sitting position and starred at her, "Bull doo-doo. They just want us to think that so they can rule and have everything their way. Might does not make right. But, then I suppose I am a tad more independent than most. Did you know American women can actually go to the theatre with their friends, or hold an honorable vocation? They also dare to travel alone, and the wealthier ones are not required to change clothes five or six times a day for various social events. We even engage in physical sports!"

_I had been reduced to pining for the small freedoms of the 19th century American woman. _

"Caron, you are a bright and lively woman. Wouldn't you like more freedom to do as you please?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "Sometimes, but I have a kind and loving husband. He allows me to do most of what I wish. However, as a married woman, I would never think of going out alone."

_Or, not being a fashion slave by wearing a ridiculous corset, or wanting a career, or expecting to gain the right to choose your country's leaders. And let's not forget disagreeing with your husband or refusing his advances. The inequality of it all just blew my mind._

"Today my dear, we can do what we wish. The world is our oyster. So, where shall we go first? I'd love to see the Louvre, but we don't have enough time."

"We could go to the river and walk along the promenade. It is beautiful even in winter. Have you ever seen the church—St. Germain, Gabrielle?

"Why, no, I haven't. I would love to see those sights. Good suggestion, Caron. We won't have to change either. We're not going anywhere terribly formal, and it's not yet evening. Two women sans-men won't raise eyebrows. Sounds like a plan."

The afternoon was sunny and not too cold. I reveled in the glory of 19th century Paris. The ancient church was not as grand as Notre Dame, but it was exquisite with its famous stained glass window and architecture. The Seine was much like I remembered from the 20th century, flowing through the city of Paris with her promenades and picturesque old cobbled bridges, joining the left bank to the right. Some of the city's most renowned architecture can be found along the Seine.

After a long afternoon excursion, we retired to the suite to prepare for our soirée grande.

Caron retreated to the bedroom for her toilet; I remained in the parlor area and began my transformation from American woman to French man.

I unpacked my new tailored suit of clothes and laid it on a chair. Make-up went on first. I darkened my skin a shade to add depth, and then used a soft eye make-up brush to make my eyebrows bushier. Bronze powder created manly chiseled cheekbones. I slicked my brown hair back severely, tying in into a ponytail that I fixed into a neat loop at the nape of my neck. The last alteration to my face was a theater grade mustache I had purchased at a costume shop. It could be affixed by using spirit gum. I made it even more realistic by brushing dark powder onto the edges, effectively blending the hairpiece into my skin.

For the final transformation, assistance would be needed. "Caron," I called, "Could you help me for a moment, please?"

She opened the bedroom door and stood in her chemise and corset, her blonde hair set up in curls.

"Gabrielle, you look like a little boy…with breasts," She giggled.

"That's why I need your help, and start calling me Gabe, so you can get used to it."

I held out a long gauze bandage to her. "Here, I need you to bind me. These puppies have to be put in the doghouse if I hope to get away with looking like a man," I said glancing at my breasts.

Caron took the bandage from me. "Now what do I do…Gabe?"

"Start at my side and wrap the gauze as tight as you can over my chest; when you are done, secure it with these," I held up two large safety pins.

Caron wrapped the bandage around me three and one half rounds before the gauze was finally spent. Women of her day were experts at cutting off the circulation in one's upper extremities. She had bound me tighter than a corset.

I struggled to take a deep breath.

"Gabe, are you going to be alright? I can re-wrap it if you like?"

"No, it's perfect," I said, practicing my deeper timbre. "If I pass out, just tell people its narcolepsy—a sleeping disease, and I'll be fine in a few moments."

"Really?"

"Why not? It sounds logical, and most people won't know what narcolepsy is so, they'll leave us alone," I reasoned.

Caron sat on a petite silk settee and watched as I slipped on the crisp white shirt, blue and silver waistcoat, and tailored wool trousers. I stuck a folded sock under each shoulder of my evening jacket. The padding added extra bulk there.

The metamorphosis was complete.

"Madame," I bowed slightly. "I don't resemble a Nancy-boy do I?"

"Heavens, no. You make a fine figure of a young man, Monsieur Thomassen. You are my handsome chaperone and it is my pleasure to accompany you this evening," she giggled girlishly.

"Good," I took Caron's hand, and air kissed it.

"Finish dressing my dear. Tonight you and I shall make more merriment than anyone else on the entire continent of Europe!

Excitedly, she scurried back into the bedroom to dress.

Good lord was I excited. A type of electricity crackled through the night air electrifying my blood. Remembering that I was a dashing 19th century male, I suppressed the urge to succumb to giddiness. Caron looked lovely and I told her so. She wore a dove gray velvet gown with a sky blue bustle running down to the hemline. Her hair was adorned with a few glittering pins. Since it was close by, we chose to stroll to the famous Brasserie Pharamond.

Supper was a sumptuous five course epicurean feast. Fine champagne was ordered and I proposed a toast to the most glamorous couple in Paris. Caron toasted to revelries, friendship, and blessings, always.

"You are a good friend for indulging me in this frolic," I thanked Caron. "I do hope you have fun."

"This is the most fun I have had since I put worms between the sheets of the bed my brother, Warren, and his visiting friend was sleeping in. I was thirteen and they were being dreadful to me. I didn't know boys could scream so," she told me with delight.

"That's hilarious," I snorted ungracefully. I couldn't picture the dainty Mademoiselle touching a worm. "Was it Reginald?"

"No," she frowned, "Reggie didn't come along until he went to University, a dreadful boar, though, is he not?"

"And how. Let me tell you a story, but you must swear to secrecy on this, Caron."

Hungry for something scandalous, she agreed to my terms. I detailed the story of how I embarrassed Reginald in the kitchen when he and Warren had come for a visit, and how Erik had caught me and scolded me royally.

"You are wicked-fun Gabrie…Gabe. What do you think Monsieur DuPuis would do if he caught us out tonight?"

"First of all, he won't, he's in London. Second of all, we are doing nothing wrong, just asserting our right to enjoy some innocent and well-deserved entertainment. We are adults Caron, why must we ask permission to act as such?"

"Then, a toast to us!" she raised her glass of champagne in celebration.

Full of fine French cuisine, we waddled out onto the street and walked to the Café Les Deux Magots for some coffee and song. It blew my mind to think that in about ten years from now, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec and his Bohemian cronies would spend significant time here, philosophizing, partying, and hobnobbing.

Two songs and two espressos later, we were back on the street in search of a cab.

Next stop: Gay Paris's reining music hall, The Alcazar.

Parisian music halls would not meet their pinnacle until the late 1880's; however, the Alcazar was already a trendy establishment. The hall featured a small orchestra, who, as one entertainment publication put it, "…_rattle merrily through one or two overtures, a march, polka … and who, if need be, are fit to play a better class of music in fair style. There are generally singers of some pretension who are equal to the proper performance…in short, the class of entertainment is such as reasonable folks may take pleasure in hearing_." A vast mix men and women of various social classes enjoyed sing-a-longs, dancing, comedy and conversation in these new establishments.

A white sign with a black script _Alcazar_ painted on it, hung from a pole in front of the dance hall. Music and conversation oozed from an unassuming, shabby green wooden door. Once on the other side of that door, we became ensconced in a _Wizard of Oz_ like transformation. There were ornate gas lamps and chandeliers everywhere, candles lit the tables, and purple velvet draperies hung at the few ceiling-high windows, but most of the color came from the Alcazar's patrons. The men and women were either dressed in their elegant best, or bizarre, garish costumes, meant to shock or delight.

Man, the place was kickin'. Caron appeared stunned as she surveyed the long narrow music hall. It was standing room only, so finding a table would be miraculous. Patrons were dancing, drinking wine, and singing along to the small orchestra.

"Ah ha," I motioned to the front, "By the stage, an open table, let's go." I pulled Caron through the maze of tables and customers doing their best drop-it-like-it's-hot 1876-style dance. Finally, we made it to the freshly vacated small café table. A waiter promptly appeared, "A bottle of your best, Bordeaux, I called over the loud din." He dissolved into the throng, returning quickly with an open bottle, and poured the ruby liquid into our glasses.

I took a long sip. "Good stuff…let's rock and roll!" I yelled holding up my glass.

"Rock and what?" Caron asked. "Oh, it's an American cowboy expression for, let's have some fun," I explained wryly.

Mademoiselle Theresa, the diva of the Alcazar, had finished her set, and numerous audience members were being invited on stage to exhibit their talents, or lack, of. A very young man crossed the stage and began a series of slight-of-hand magic tricks. First he charmed us with a bouquet of flowers, mysteriously pulled from behind his back. Next there was the silk-scarf-from-the-mouth ruse. Both garnered the man polite applause. Although mildly amused, the crowd's interest lagged after a few more of his routine tricks. The majority of them turned back to their conversations and wine, leaving him onstage without admirers. He yelled at us, but we could not hear him. Finally, the young man stalked off to go and pout in his wine.

The orchestra broke into a rousing polka, and many patrons sprung from their seats to dance.

"Wow, a polka," I marveled. I forgot it's the casual dance of the 1800's.

Not being one to pass up an opportunity to bust a move, I asked Caron if she wanted to hit the floor.

"Hit the what?" she yelled over the din. "You know, dance; come on and live a little girl," I prodded.

I grabbed her tiny hand and pulled her up and into the swirling boisterous dance.

The polka ended and we fell back into our seats sweating and laughing. "See Caron, I told you that would be fun."

"Indeed you did, Monsieur. I haven't danced as such since I was a child."

A young chanteuse took the stage and offered us a sample of her dubious talent. She embarked on singing the tale of a woman's work. The broadside ditty would have garnered more applause if she'd had a partner. After a few verses, it was obvious she thought more of her talents than the crowd did. The hall broke into a boisterous sing-a-long, drowning out the Mademoiselle on the stage.

"Tough crowd," I hollered, but Caron wasn't listening. Instead, her voice rose in song. Caron had joined the crowd in the comical tale of a man who complained about his wife's idleness and her retort that woman's work was never done. She looked at me as she sang, and noticed that I was attempting to communicate with her.

"I know this song, Papa used to sing it to us when we were children," she enthused.

Since the tune had never been played on any FM radio station I knew of, it was unfamiliar to me, but after the first two verses, I had it down.

My date was having a royal time. Her initial nervousness was now drowned in most of the bottle on our table. She stood and took my hands in hers, "Can you sing Gabe?"

"Uh, a little, I used to sing in a chorus back in Chicago. I'm a second Alto. On occasion I would even fill in for the baritone when one of our members was missing. When I was a teenager, I used to mimic the deeper voiced divas."

_I refrained from telling her they were the divas of the 20th century; Chrissie Hynde of the Pretenders, Shirley Manson, and Macy Grey, were some of my muses; but to hop on stage in a 19th century music hall and sing a duet as a man? Well, why not!_

We threaded out way through the undulating crowd and up the small step to the stage. When the chorus came back around, she picked up and began to sing:

Come all who roam, both old and young,  
And listen to my song,  
I'll tell you of a circumstance,  
That will not keep you long;  
I saw a man the other day,  
As savage as a Turk,  
And he was grumbling at his wife  
And said she did no work.  
_So men, if you would happy be,  
Don't grumble at your wife so;  
For no man can imagine  
What a woman has to do._

Caron's voice was clear and melodic. She ran through the song until the chorus swung round again, nodding at me to pick it up. I pushed aside my nervousness and gave the ditty my all. I sang deeply, gesturing to my feminine partner as if we were in a play.

He said: You lazy huzzy!  
Indeed you must confess;  
For I'm a-tired of keeping you  
In all your idleness.  
The woman she made answer:

I work as hard as you,  
And I will just run through the list  
What a woman has to do.  
Once more I sung the chorus as the man of wisdom:

_So men, if you would happy be,  
Don't grumble at your wife so;  
For no man can imagine  
What a woman has to do._

The din of the music hall lessened. People were actually listening to us and not booing. We were charming the audience with our comic duet. Caron parodied the disgruntled woman, and I, the pleading man. Imagine our expressions of surprise when we finished to appreciative applause. Reveling in the adulation, Caron curtsied and I bowed to our audience.

The diminutive orchestra struck up another polka, a signal for the crowd to get down to once more. I turned to smile at my partner. Her bright countenance had turned from ecstasy to terror. I followed Caron's wide-eyed stare to the right corner of the long room. Next to an old upright piano stood a man whose face was hidden by the cowl of his black cape. Subtle glints of white and glowing green eyes were his only discernable features.

I knew those eyes—those eyes that burn.

- O -

_**Uh, oh. In the words of my sister in pfan-fiction, Kay blue Eyes, the $--t may have just hit the proverbial fan. Regular reviewers and lurkers as well, please let me know what you think of this chapter. Thank you for staying with me.**_

_**FYI: This story will be finished and the endings will be positive.**_

_**- Leesa**_

_A broadside originally was sung to a well-known tune. Broadsides were popular in Britain, Holland, France, Italy, Spain and Germany and later in America. This one, Woman never knows when her day's work's done, was popularized in the mid to late 1800's by Lesley Nelson-Burns._

_soirée grande: Grand celebration_


	22. Ch 22 When it hits the fan

**Time the Avenger**

**Ch. 22 – When the $h-t Hits the Fan**

**_Re-cap: Gabrielle and Caron's little adventure in Paris had been discovered._**

As a young journalist, I had been trained not to demonstrate fear or disgust in times of crisis. This was such a time. My shoulders shuddered ever so slightly; I ceased breathing for a few seconds. Eyes the color of marine phosphorus locked with mine. Sweet Beelzebub, Erik was here in the Alcazar, and he looked _tremendously_ pissed off.

No emotion showed on my face. I smiled at the crowd while whispering instructions from the side of my mouth, "Caron, move off of the stage as if nothing's happened. Wave, smile, then run, stage left to the exit door in the back." She obeyed, grasping my hand tightly, allowing me to lead her.

When I turned around, I expected to find Erik moving stealthily through the crowd after us. Instead, the ever-unpredictable Erik was still in the corner, staring at us like a hooded ghoul.

Directives raced through my mind; out the back door, into the street and hail a cab swiftly. That's what we could do, and then we would retire to the hotel and worry about consequences later. Maybe I would send Caron back tonight. She had done nothing improper, heck, neither had I. Why did I feel so guilty?

At first, the back entrance door would not budge when I attempted to open it with normal force. Finally, I shoved my shoulder against the heavy wooden door and it gave way. I pulled Caron into the dark alley and ran in the direction opposite the music hall's front entrance. There was a cabriolet stand with three vehicles waiting for fares. I ran up the closest one, panting out instructions, "Take us to the Le Relais du Louvre." Caron entered first with my assistance. I smiled at her reassuringly, "You did nothing wrong, Caron. You were simply having some innocent fun. If anyone is to blame, it is I, Madame."

She smiled back, adjusting the hat that had slipped during our flight, and scooted further into the dark recess of the cab.

I put my booted foot up on the ledge to step in when I felt a large hand clamp down hard on my shoulder.

"You are correct, Madame Spencer is blameless. However, you, Gabrielle, have much to answer for."

_How in the hell had Erik gotten to us so quickly? Phantom indeed._ I froze. _Think_, Gabrielle.

Erik handed the cabbie money, and told him to take Madame Spencer back to his estate. He gave the man directions to the manor, offering the man three times what he would have made in fares for the night to travel just beyond the edge of Paris.

"Caron, you shall return tonight. Enter quietly from the front of the manor house, and your parents will know no different about your adventurous evening, dear. After that, it shall never be spoken of again."

I heard her whimper a weak, "Yes, Monsieur Dupuis."

Oh lordy, is he mad. I can tell by the way his fingers are digging into my shoulder. I can't go with him. He'll do something to me— I just know it. The problem with Erik was that I really didn't know what he was capable of when someone pushed his buttons.

While Erik addressed Caron, I took the opportunity to escape. I brought my hand up and jabbed him sharply in the Adam's apple, spun around and threw a righteous roundhouse kick against his chest, laying him flat. Basic kickboxing moves are much more easily accomplished when wearing pants.

Then I ran like hell.

Navigating the streets and alleyways of Paris in the dark wasn't simple. Patches of ice made the cobblestones quite slick. My new leather soled boots hindered traction. Thankfully, I was small enough to slip in and out of the dense crowds. I had to find a place to hide for the night, and it couldn't be the posh hotel. If Erik had found the dance hall, he must know the location of the hotel room we had procured.

Why was he so upset with me? Was it the reverse Victor/Victoria act? Could he be angry with me for not telling him? Perhaps he felt I was corrupting the innocent Mdm. Spencer. Was Erik being possessive? But, I was dressed as a man. I was hardly scoping out _other_ men.

A fleeting glimpse over my shoulder told me that Erik was closing in. _Damn long legged man_. I darted around a group of portly gentlemen smoking cigars and leering at obvious ladies of the evening. I found myself in a stinky, dark, narrow alley, with no discernable exit. _Crapola—what now, I fumed._ There was a narrow breezeway between two of the buildings. My form would fit enough to barley squeeze through. It was my only chance.

Just then I stepped in something squishy. I heard screeching as an animal darted from under my right foot. Before my feet had time to fight for footing, my bottom smacked the cold hard cobblestones. Eew. Whatever I'd landed in smelled disgusting. Adrenalin flooded through my veins, allowing me to upright myself swiftly. Erik was so close; I could see the furious glint in his eyes.

The breezeway! I had to get through. Erik noticed the narrow passageway and realized my intent. Damn. When I turned to make my way into it, I heard a sound. It was if a whip were slicing through the air. Something caught me by the neck and tightened. My air passage was cut off, I struggled for air.

Horrors, it was some sort lasso. _Mon dieu, did he mean to kill me?_

Tears filled my eyes, partly from the rope around my neck and partly from the knowledge that it was Erik who was hurting me so.

"Struggling is fruitless Gabrielle; it can only lead to your demise. We do not want that now, do we darling? Stay still and you will not be harmed," Erik's menacingly smooth voice warned.

_This is what a cornered rabbit feels like, right before bring consumed by a carnivorous animal, I thought._

I threw up my hands. Even I knew when to say when. The noose around my neck slackened, allowing me to breathe again.

Could this be the same man who had held me in his arms only three nights ago?

Erik walked toward me, the lasso still taught in his hands. "I am not sure what game you think you are playing with me Gabrielle, but be assured, it is one you will lose," his voice dripped threat. "Surrender to me, and I will remove the punjab lasso from your neck."

My eyes pleaded with him not to harm me. I would obey.

He grasped my left arm in one hand, and removed the noose from my neck with the other.

"Let go of me Erik, you have no right to treat me in this manner, what's up with you? Stop being a prick!" I struggled to free myself from his forceful grip on my arm.

He spoke sternly, while maneuvering me back up the alley, "We are going to walk calmly to my carriage, and then we will return to my manor, where you and I will engage in an imperative chat."

"I've done absolutely _nothing_ wrong, you know. Caron and I were merely listening to music, dancing, and basically enjoying ourselves. When did that become a crime? Well, other than doing it as a woman that is. I hate the confines this démodéd society puts on women. It's ludicrous, I tell you, absolutely bat-$hit ludicrous!" I railed.

"Did you not hear what I said? We will discuss your transgression later!"

"You've gone crazy, Erik. You can't possible know what it's like to not be able to walk the streets, or attend a play, or go to a restaurant of your choosing with out being ostracized for doing so. I hate living as a recluse, I hate this f—ing century and I hate you for doing this to me!" I screamed at him.

Erik stopped. He squeezed my arm hard and hauled me up to meet his face. "You filthy mouthed adventuress!" he seethed through gritted teeth. "How dare you tell me that I know nothing of being ostracized? I have spent my entire life imprisoned by my face. So repulsive am I to others, I dare not go to a restaurant, a museum, to the opera, or, even walk the streets in daylight. Do you know what it is like to have people run screaming from you in terror when they see your face? No pretty little girl, you do not, do you? He spat at me. "This mask brings curious stares and unwelcome questions as well. Never, _ever_, speak to me of rejection again."

Erik was having a major tizzy fit. Frightened as I was, I just couldn't keep my yap shut, "Look here, I am sorry for your misfortune— as I like to say, it sucks. On a scale from one to ten, it's a 12. But, I cannot live this way, I just can't. I did not ask to be here, and I am not going to live as a delicate little flower. If there is a way to be a useful, active participant in this oppressive world of yours, I will do it, or die trying. If not, you might as well just kill my ass." I jutted my jaw at him in defiance.

His hold on my arm hurt, I was sure there would be a big bruise there tomorrow, but I didn't flinch. We glowered at each other.

Finally, we had arrived at his carriage, which was twenty feet from the alley exit of the Alcazar. How had I missed it earlier while Caron and I were fleeing? Erik opened the door and nearly shoved me inside. "Get in. Don't think about escaping, I have locks on the outside of the doors."

"Naturally, you're the Phantom," I grumbled.

"Be silent!"

I flopped into the corner and looked away from him, "I thought you were different. My mistake for thinking you gave a damn. Why, are you doing this, Erik?"

He heaved a sigh, "You do not realize how dangerous Paris can be, Gabrielle. My intent was to keep you and Madame Spencer out of peril."

"Look here, I can take care of myself, as you have witnessed first hand. No one was going to bother us. I am a man tonight, Erik."

"No, you are not. There is still much you do not know of my culture. Are you aware of just how dangerous this section of town is? Here, men think nothing of robbing and knifing other men for a few francs. Getting lost could have earned you robbery, or murder."

I narrowed my eyes at him, "Tell me, how did you find us? Aren't you supposed to be in London?"

"Business was finished early," he shrugged. "As for your little ruse, Gabrielle, when I arrived home, I found a letter from the Le Relais confirming your reservation. You must have missed it in the mail, dear. Trust me when I say that a carriage trip back into the city was not on my agenda after the long train ride from London. But on does what one must, anyway, I paid the Giry's a visit, and when Meg told me you had left the day before, I imagined you had taken an excursion into Parisian nightlife. I did not leave the Giry's with reason to fret over your early departure. They believe I was in town to visit them, and was merely inquiring of your visit."

I began to speak, but Erik silenced me by holding his hand up authoritatively.

"Now," he continued, "I asked myself, if I were a daring, passionate, woman of the future, where would I venture to? On many occasions you have told me of your love for dance and song, so, naturally I looked in the café's and music halls. It was not so hard to find you where you should not have been. And now, you will return to where you belong."

"Where I belong? I _belong_ home, in Chicago 2005, with my family, and friends, and job, and my freedom. I belong where I can walk my brother's dog in my shorts and crop top. Where I can go to the dance club with my girlfriends, where I can ride my bicycle and drive my car and watch TV, where I am not at your mercy. Sleeping with you does not make me your property— your prisoner Erik," I shrieked.

"When we return, Gabrielle," he warned.

With those words he slammed the door, fastened it on the outside, and climbed into the driver's seat.

Why, oh why, couldn't my time traveling taken me to, say, the 1960's. I could have at least met the Beatles…

**- O -**

**_Please, do not hesitate to send me a review. It makes me sad when you don't. If you would like to discuss this phan fic, please email me at my address in the author's profile section of the fanfiction site, since I am not allowed to post it here (go figure). The next two chapters will clarify some things that are going on between Erik and Gabrielle. Thanks for reading and reviewing! xxoo -Leesainthesky_**


	23. Ch 23 Moving On

**Time the Avenger **

_Mad Props to my new BETA Amy! _

_**Re-cap: Erik locks Gabrielle in his carriage for the ride back to his manor after discovering her in a Paris music hall dressed as a man. He ain't a happy camper… **_

**Ch 23 – Moving On. **

I slumped into the corner of the carriage. My mind whirled madly, seeking for an exit strategy—any exit strategy that would get me out of this mess.

How could this happen? My plan was foolproof—go to Paris as a man, and enjoy the freedoms masculinity afforded. I was drowning in the nineteenth century. No phones, no lights, no motorcars, not a single luxury… I felt like freaking Gilligan, without the professor and his ingenious coconut-shell inventions.

Caron was right after all; Erik was odd. He seemed dangerous and volatile. For the first time since being birthed into this century, I was on the precipice of panic. Harkening back to the Leroux novel, I remembered that the book's Erik could be a man of servitude and devotion one moment, then of malice and cunning the next—a true psychotic. History showed that this was my preferred type of man.

The trip back to the manor was brief. Erik drove the horses at break neck speed. I imagined his goal was to arrive close to the same time as Caron.

The brougham made the familiar turn down the winding driveway to DuPuis manor. I knew zero hour was close at hand. I will _not_ back down, I pledged to myself. Yes, I cared deeply for Erik, I adored him, and I empathized with his plight, but I would not succumb to his barbaric attitudes.

The conveyance stopped. Erik unlatched the door from outside; I sat inside the carriage staring at him, not moving. Damn it, I thought. He wants to run this show so badly, let him orchestrate the next move.

"Come Gabrielle," Erik commanded in an imposing voice, "We have arrived home, it is time to disembark."

I crossed my arms across my chest and glared at him, "Kiss my ass."

That threw Erik for a loop; he pursed his lips and stared at me, unsure of what to do next.

Without warning, I found myself being hauled out of the carriage's cab by my feet. I suppose he thought I would stand once outside. I'd covered many pro-life protests as a novice reporter in the South, and I knew how to stage a peaceful objection—go limp.

Erik became infuriated when he realized he would have to drag me into the house. "What in the blazes has gotten into you Gabrielle? Stand up now or I shall toss you over my shoulder and carry you in."

"Whatever, dude."

Exasperated by my insubordination and my lingo, Erik bent over me, reached around my body and picked me up off the ground. This time, I struggled fiercely, dislodging his mask.

This enraged him beyond comprehension; he pinned me to the earth with his knees and hands. "You hateful little viper you!"

"Ditto," I spat in his face. "Let go of me, you freak."

This earned me a pinch to the neck, the paralyzing, Mr. Spock kind.

I awoke in my bed. My hair had been brushed, my make-up and faux mustache removed, and I was wearing a soft flannel nightgown.

Had I dreamt the whole business? The morning was a perfect mirror of countless others, save for the trepidation in my soul. At that moment, Caron cautiously opened the door. "Gabrielle, you are awake," she said with surprise.

She rushed to my bedside, brimming with concern, "Are you alright? After Monsieur DuPuis sent me on my way last night, I was beside myself with concern for you. He was most angry."

"Oh, I'm alright, Caron," I reassured her. "Monsieur Dupuis thought it imprudent for me to put both of us in harm's way; that was his main concern when he discovered our clandestine plan. You needn't worry. It's all good, as they say." _Why make her worry? _

"I am so relieved," Caron said, touching my arm fondly.

"How are you? That's my concern," I asked.

"Tired, but no worse for the wear. Monsieur DuPuis kept his word and has not divulged our misbehavior to Mama or Papa."

"Misbehavior? Caron, we indulged in an excellent adventure, not a torrid crime, dear."

"I know, but being caught was so disquieting. Today is my last day here. Papa will be taking me to the train station this afternoon. Before I depart, I want you to know how much I have appreciated your companionship and your kindness, Gabrielle. Most women I know care only about what they can gain for themselves, but you are a true comrade. And last night…in spite of our tribulation, I enjoyed myself more than any other time I can remember. I will treasure our adventure always. It will be, as you say, something to tell my grandchildren about someday," she beamed with delight.

"You are a fine woman, Madame Spencer. Have a grand life, enjoy your husband and your children, be strong, and remember, it is your legal right to have orgasms. That law was passed three months ago, you know."

"Of course, Gabrielle," she blushed. I will be sure to insist my husband be as considerate of my needs as I am of his."

"There you go, girl," I encouraged.

We embraced warmly, and then she was gone.

Violent despair washed over me. My only girlfriend was gone, the man I was falling in love with was treating me like a caged animal, and I had nowhere to go. Erik and I did have one thing in common, we found ways to survive in the face of adversity, even if our methods were not always the most noble, but we managed to endure.

I would endure. Already résumés had been forwarded to publications in London and Paris; I was trolling for whatever writing assignments might be out there for women (or women under male pen names). It would still be another forty-five years before women won the right to vote in America, but freedoms in that country were considerable when compared to those in post Revolution France. Crossing the big pond was also an option.

I got out of bed to check the weather. From my window I noted frozen fields veiled by low clouds. If I dressed in four layers of clothing; underwear and long johns, chemise, bra, corset, two petticoats, two dresses and my scarf,gloves,and cloak, I wouldn't freeze. My mind made up, I packed my large shoulder bag with the IPOD, journal and various necessities.

I'll be damned if I am going to be the Phantom of the Opera's next victim. I didn't know what had gotten into Erik, but he was freaking me out big time. The thought occurred to me that I might not have a good grasp of what normal behavior was for a man of the 19th century. What if Erik wasn't acting so odd? What if he was reacting as any other Victorian era man might? I didn't care at this point. Besides, Erik was not any other man.

I waited until all members of the household had gathered in the back to bid Madame Spencer adieu, then crept out of the house from the side porch entrance. Quickly, I slipped into the thick woods.

With snow threatening, I was glad to have so many layers on. My plan was to follow a path through the woods to the main road, after which I would attempt to hail a ride from a benevolent passerby. I really hoped to make it to London, since speaking English and understanding the British entertainment scene would be easier for me.

I had saved a considerable amount of money from my earnings at the manor, so I was certain to survive comfortably in a boarding house for the next three or four months.

Hours passed before I finally hiked my way to the far side of the woods, and onto the main road. My luggage was becoming cumbersome, so I stopped for a rest. The cheese and bread I'd brought along helped revive me. After a while, I stood, stretched, and resumed my trek.

Dark was coming quickly; I would soon have to enter the dense woods again and look for a pine tree to make a pallet under for the night.

Behind me a coach was approaching. Could good fortune finally be smiling upon me? I turned to wave the vehicle down. The impending dusk made it difficult for me to see the driver's face clearly.

As the carriage neared, a chill wriggled up my spine. I knew those horses, Sophie and Dante. Good lord, it was Erik. Before I had a chance to flee into the woods, he called out to me, "Gabrielle, please, don't run from me, I will not harm you."

"Go away!" I screamed like a banshee, picking up my pace.

He pulled up along side me as I walked, "Gabrielle, listen to me. I realize that my handling of your foolishness was harsh and I regret it. I know not how to deal with women; I've little experience in matters concerning the fairer sex."

"Yes, well Erik, you handled me as if I were a possession, a thing. I am not anyone's possession; I am not an object; I am a human being and I deserve the same respect and freedom as any other human being. You may choose to hide in your misery Monsieur, but I, refuse."

"Please, I am trying to understand. Won't you indulge me in conversation?"

"Go away, Erik," In my mind, it was too late for explanations.

He ignored my request and continued to shadow me. "When I returned from London yesterday and found the hotel confirmation, I was confused. Then you were not to be found at the Giry's, or the hotel, I feared the worst—that someone had abducted the two of you, or worse, that you had returned to your…to your time. I searched all night before finding you on stage, at the Alcazar. Why did you do it, Gabrielle?"

"Which part of the scenario confuses you, Erik? Is it the dressing like a man part, or leaving the house? I know you cannot comprehend why I might wish to spend my leisure time singing, drinking wine, and dancing rather than sitting on my ass in the house doing needlepoint or making lace."

"I am not blind to your unrest, but you cannot run the streets of Paris without a male escort, it is improper and dangerous! What if someone had discovered you weren't a man? Who knows what sort of horrors you could have been subjected to Gabrielle?"

"Oh, and I suppose you will offer to escort me anywhereI want to go?"

"Gabrielle, darling, you know such a thing is not possible for me."

I stopped walking and faced the carriage. Erik's eyes were red and he looked as if he hadn't slept in days. _That's what you get for chasing me all over Paris, I thought. _

"Bull doo, Erik, you could do so if you wished. You go shopping and you meet with clients. Why not go to a restaurant or the opera one evening? Who gives a whit if they stare at your mask?

This earned me ascowl.

"I never told you about the big purple birthmark I had on my face when I was a child. Fortunately, in my time, such defects can be surgically removed. In grammar school other kids called me kool-aid face—it was a fruit drink that would stain your skin. Anyway, the birthmark, along with one brown and one green eye, made me a bully magnet. Don't tell me I don't know how it feels to be ridiculed. I hated it, but I wouldn't let it keep me from going to the movies and concerts and other public events."

He shook his head at me, "You do not understand. It is different with me, Gabrielle. I cannot partake of activities enjoyed by others. That is why I remain reclusive."

"Well I'm not a recluse, and I refuse to be your means of personal entertainment, Erik," I huffed.

"Is that what you think, that I have you around for my pleasure? What an absurd charge, mademoiselle, While I do enjoy your company, I do _not_ consider you my plaything!" he raged.

"We'd spent a night and a morning of intimacy together. I allowed myself to believe you had certain feelings for me, Erik."

"Gabrielle," he continued pensively, "can you not tell that I do?"

"That explains why you didn't tell me good-bye when you left for London."

"I looked for you, but when I could not find you, I assumed you must be occupied elsewhere, so I left. Is that improper?" He honestly sounded perplexed.

"What do you think?"

"Woman, you try my patience." He sighed wearily, pulled the horses to stop, and began climbing down from the driver's seat.

"Leave me alone!" I screeched. Without looking back, I slung the bag over my shoulder and dashed into the woods, running as if I were a stalked animal.

Frantically, I shot through the deep brush. Darkness was coming, making it hard to see more than shadows and small threads of light through the trees. From the forms to my left, I could tell there was a grove of white pines. It would be easy for me to crawl under one and hide in its dense limbs.

While sliding under one of the trees, my skirt caught on something. Wretched dresses. Fabric ripped when I yanked on the garment. No time for vanity now. I gathered the skirt up and tied a knot in the hem. Carefully, I climbed the branches of the tree until I was just far enough to be above my pursuer's head.

Stop shaking, Gab, I told myself as I perched precariously on two large pine branches, holding onto the tree's sticky trunk. The woods were abnormally quiet, as is usually the way right after sunset. Ever so slightly, I heard dry leaves being crushed under foot. From what I could tell, Erik was about five feet from the tree. I willed my body to cease trembling. I did not want to be found.

How could I return now? His precarious nature frightened me. It was difficult to predict what reaction I would be met with when I did or said something that was beyond Erik's emotional grasp.

Once more I heard leaves crunching. He moved farther away from my post until I could hear him no more. Tonight I would sleep in the arms of my indigenous shelter. It protected me from the cold, and provided a soft bed of pine needles to sleep on. Not exactly a five star hotel, but it would have to suffice for tonight.

**- O - **

**_Since authors are being reprimanded for mentioning reviewers by name here, let me just say thanks to those of you who bother to review—It makes writing more of a pleasure to hear from you. Thank you for reading. Those who are worried about a bad Erik, he's not bad, just confused. Keep reading… _**

_**- Leesa **_


	24. Ch 24 Falling Away

_My Beta Amy is a marvelous woman! You are marvelous for reading my story and reviewing as well. I now accept unsigned reviews, but I do like knowing who you are._

**_Re-cap: Gabrielle has left the manor for greener pastures (or so she thinks). She is hiding from Erik and has spent the night under a pine tree in the woods (yes, she will have some 'splainin' to do when Erik get to her…).  
_**

**Ch 24 - Falling**

The drum corps marching in my brain was quite insistent, and what was that smell? The scent of pine—I pried my sleep riddled eyes open. Of course, now I remember, I'm underneath a majestic white pine on the floor of a French forest—nothing oddball about that, eh? Even with the many layers of winter clothing and my heavy wool cloak, I was shivering; a light snow had fallen sometime during my slumber. What a tangled web, I mused silently. I rolled over and sat up. Yuck, there was pinesap and brown needles all over my black wool cloak. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I contemplated my next move.

Erik would be back, that was a no-brainer. I would have to walk to the other side of the woods and hope to hitch a ride on another road. I think it eventually led to Brussels, but I no longer cared where it went, as long as I could find a town with a train station and be free of Paris.

I thought of Erik. I though of what life with him would be like. There was the enigmatic Erik, aloof and mysterious. Then there was the good Erik, brilliant and passionate, with compassion toward women and children. Then there was the scary Erik; the phantom Erik. Volatile, angry and irrational, his unpredictability frightened and angered me. I could understand how a life of solitude might dull his senses to the needs of others, but how could Erik take me as his lover one moment, then hunt me like prey the next?

Was it merely his lack of social interaction, combined with the cruelties heaped upon him as a child, or was it my fault? I bore no delusions of understanding even the typical nineteenth century male. Hell, most days I didn't understand the twenty-first century male.

Dear God, I prayed, please, can't I just click my heels together, recite there's no place like home a few times, and wake up in Chicago…or Kansas?

I wasn't going to be picky, as long as the year was 2006.

Right—and pigs are going to fly out of my navel too. Let's go girlie. I stood, brushed the pine-goo from my cloak, and dragged my large carry on bag from underneath the tree. The sun shone through the high bare branches, highlighting the snow that had made its way onto the forest floor.

It took my eyes some moments to adjust to the brightness. I began to walk stiffly in the direction of the opposite side of the woods when I heard voices and dogs. Holy crap! I tried to run, but instead tripped on a fallen branch. The last thing I remember is crying out in pain as I lurched forward.

Cold—I was so cold, freezing in fact. There was motion too. The surface beneath me rumbled roughly, like riding in a child's wagon over a gravel road. The smell of hay permeated my nostrils, and when I opened my eyes I saw only sparkling blue sky.

The last time I fell and blacked out, I awoke in another century. I groaned, attempting to sit up, which only caused me pain. Feeling nauseous, I closed my eyes again.

The wooden wagon stopped, and I heard an unfamiliar man's voice say, "Wait right here Jacques, I will ring the bell." Something jumped on the wagon next to me and licked me in the face. I jerked my eyes open to the curious eyes of a huge black and tan hound. "Good dog, nice dog, now, go, shoo," I muttered to the hound while weakly stroking his head, then I lay back in the damp hay, and nearly lost consciousness.

Somewhere, a door creaked open and I head Marie Roux's voice, "Good Monsieur, what business brings you here today?"

"Dear Madame, we do not wish to be a bother, but my brother and I were hunting in the woods. We live on the farm four miles down the road, toward Paris, and well— Cornelius, that is my dog, discovered a young woman unconscious in the snow. She appears to have a considerable lump on her noggin. Yours is the first residence along the way, therefore, we thought to begin checking for her relatives at your door. Do you know her? She may well require urgent medical attention."

"Here, in the game wagon," said the man.

I heard soft footsteps and the swishing of skirts, then silence. A frantic Marie started yelling, "Henri, Monsieur DuPuis, come quick—Gabrielle, she is hurt!"

_Peachy, I had returned to hell, 1877._

"What is the matter, Marie?" Henri's concerned voice cried out.

"In the wagon, it is Gabrielle! She must have been walking and fallen! Monsieur DuPuis, please!" Her pleas became more insistent.

Suddenly Erik's booming tenor broke through the din. "Out of the way Madame. Who are you, where did you find her?" he demanded of my rescuers.

"In the woods Monsieur. We were hunting when we found her unconscious in the snow. She is alive, but barley conscious, and very cold."

I felt Henry's gentle old hands stroking my brow, checking my pulse. "Her pulse is slow, Monsieur DuPuis; we must get her inside now, hurry!"

Erik's strong hands hauled me out of the wooden cart. He began issuing orders, "Her lips are the color of slate, and she is shivering profusely. Hypothermia may have already set in. Marie, run a warm bath and find her flannel nightclothes; make haste."

"Henri, deal with these men please."

"Indeed monsieur, I'll fetch her bag too."

He carried me up the stairs and into the water closet. "Monsieur, it is not be proper for you to be in here with her," I heard Marie caution.

"There is no time for modesty, Marie. Fetch her warmest nightclothes, post haste."

"As you wish," she tisked. I heard her heels clicking down the hall toward my bedroom.

Erik sat me against the door and began to undress me. I flailed like a rag doll as he peeled off layers of clothing. With only my chemise and scanty underwear left on, he lifted me up and gently placed me in the warm water. My head lolled back against the edge of the tub. Erik cradled my neck with his arm and used his other hand to squeeze warm water from a washcloth over the top of my head and brow.

"Gabrielle," he exhaled, "what have you done, child? Why do you run from me? I would never hurt you, never. "

Gently, Erik slapped my face attempting to bring me to. "Please wake up."

"So cold," I whimpered weakly.

"Yes, yes, I know, Marie and I will warm you. Stay with me now."

"Oh, what misfortune have I once again wrought? I do not deserve the company of good people."

I began to feel the blood flowing through my body. My eyes fluttered open slightly, revealing a blurry Erik hunched over the tub, smoothing warm water over my neck and shoulders.

"Erik," I mumbled weakly.

I heard him draw in a sharp breath. He put a hand on each side of my face and tilted it up toward him, "Gabrielle, can you hear me?"

"Umm," I moaned.

"Thank God. You have a nasty bump on your forehead, scratches on your face, and your right ankle is swollen. What happened to you?"

"I heard people in the woods, I ran to hide, tripped, passed out…I'm freezing and my head hurts terribly. Will I be ok?"

"Time will tell dear. You were on the verge of hypothermia when the hunter's dog found you. You should be fine, providing it is possible to raise your body temperature. If not, it's off to the hospital in Paris with you," Erik looked concerned.

I heard the door creak open and Marie's worried voice, "Here Erik, give her this, if she will drink it. The hot tea will help warm her. How is she, monsieur?"

"Lucid but still cold. Is that right Gabrielle? You do not feel the warmth from the bath water yet?"

"N-no," I said through chattering teeth. Every nerve in my body felt raw with cold.

"Drink this if you can," Erik held the china cup to my lips and I took quick sips of the hot tea, rapidly finishing the cup's contents. Marie hurried off to bring up a pot of the beverage.

I closed my eyes and leaned back in the tub, Erik was moving away from me. I heard the squeak of the faucet; he was filling the tub with as much additional hot water as the basin would hold.

"You must have been dreadfully frightened of me for you to run so. Where were you running to?" he asked.

"Away, anywhere I might find employment and lodging." Culling up strength, I pled my case, "I must have a life Erik; I am not the kept-woman kind of girl."

"I know," he said quietly. Forgive me; please forgive me, can you? I am incredibly ill prepared to deal with conflict when it is someone I—I care for. In the past, my method was to fight or flee. With you it is not cut and dried. Mankind perplexes me; womankind perplexes me more."

"I do not want to be a prisoner in your home, Erik."

"Nor do I wish to keep you as one, Gabrielle." He kissed the hand he had been washing.

Naturally, a man of his era would want to protect a woman from harm. I wasn't afraid of his intent as much as his reaction to what he did not deem appropriate. Erik was controlling, but I supposed it was the only successful method he had found for getting what he wanted.

Thinking back what I had learned about the man, I realized he had never attempted to control or manipulate my spirit. Erik's intensity did alarm me at times and I did not always understand his intentions, but hey, ours was an unusual arrangement in a myriad of ways. I cared for him more that I feared him. I supposed that we would often confound one another regardless of what century we were from. Was he worth the effort? Oh yeah, and he deserved to be treated as such. I had to be careful in my relationship with Erik, but I did not have to be dense.

And here he was, this stoic gentleman, humbly washing my frozen body and kissing my hand.

The only warmth I felt was from the tears sliding down my cheeks. I cried for my loss, for the nearly inconsolable fear in my heart. I cried for Erik, for how he had been cheated by life, for his confusion and his sorrow. He was not a bad man; I knew he would never harm me. But I also understood that learning to love with trust would be complicated for him.

I raised my hand up to stroke his face. "I'm feeling warmer now; can I get out of the water?"

"If you are sure you are warmer, I will have Marie take your temperature to see how it has risen. Are you able to stand? Of course not, your ankle is bruised. Here," he removed his shirt, pulled the drain plug and reached into the tub to lift me out. Erik placed me on the floor, and sat me on a small vanity chair. He was helping me pull off my wet undergarments when Marie rapped on the door, "I have more tea, how is she?"

"Take the tea to her room. Gabrielle's temperature will need to be checked as well," Erik directed through the closed door.

He assisted me in drying off, politely averting his eyes the best he could, then lifted my arms up so I could slide into my flannel old lady nightgown. He bent down to pick me up again.

"Put your arms around my neck, there, hold on to me dear," I was carried down the hall to my room where Marie had pulled back the bed covers. Erik lay me down, and then pulled the pile of blankets and quilts up to my neck.

Marie nearly pushed him out of the way so she could stick the mercury thermometer in my mouth, "Now be still until I remove it."

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back into the mountain of goose down pillows. With fatigue tugging at me, it was a struggle to keep the instrument still in my mouth. Old-time mercury thermometers weren't large, but they were heavier than the ones pediatricians used when I was a kid.

Marie checked her watch, satisfied that enough time had passed. She plucked the thermometer from my mouth and scrutinized it closely. "36.4 °C," she announced, looking up at Erik.

"Her temperature is barely acceptable, it needs to rise. Come Gabrielle, do not go to sleep, sit up and drink more of this tea," Erik insisted.

I obeyed, and sat up. Erik picked up the teapot from the bedside table, poured a cup and handed it to me.

I smiled weakly and consumed the hot liquid. Unlike the first cup, I felt the warmth from this one spreading throughout my body as I drank. Looking up from my cup, I noticed Marie and Erik watching me expectantly.

"I'm feeling much better now, really, forgive me for worrying you so. Next time I go for a walk in the woods, I'll stay closer to the property, I promise," I said this mostly for Marie's benefit. There was no need for her to know about the conflict that had erupted under her roof.

"I will stay by her side tonight Marie, you rest. In the morning when Gabrielle is warmer, I will wrap her sprained ankle. Go now. You know I am able and well versed in basic medicine. If her condition worsens, I shall alert you that I am taking her into Paris for further treatment."

She gave Erik an alarmed glance, "Yes, if you are certain, monsieur."

"I am certain, Goodnight Marie."

"And to you, Monsieur DuPuis," she gave us a short nod and left the room. Erik pulled the desk chair up to my bedside. His hand came to rest on top of mine, "Don't," I mumbled, brushing his off and turning from him.

Silence, then the sound of the chair being pushed violently across the floor. I could hear him pacing the room.

Shyly, I turned to see him glowering at his reflection in the room's full-length mirror. Turning abruptly and stalking back to my bedside, he spoke.

"How dare you engage me in your little web of deception, leading me to believe you wanted to be here with me. You must have been in desperate need to bed a gargoyle, Mademoiselle." His voice had taken on a maliciously honeyed tone. Moving closer, he continued, "Let this be a warning; those who toy with Erik, suffer grave consequences."

"Wh-what? Where is this coming from? Have you misplaced your marbles Erik? The only one in this room playing games is the one who forgot to say farewell to the woman who gave him intense sexual pleasure a few nights ago. Or does the occurrence escape your mind Monsieur? I was truly hurt by your nonchalance, Erik. I felt used."

Erik sat back and stared at the fringe on the bed's canopy. He appeared to be considering my words, "If you felt so abused," he said meeting my eyes, "then why did you feel the need to embark on a clandestine outing with Madame Spencer? You must have sensed I would disapprove."

_He had me there_. "I wanted to go out, and I didn't want to argue should you give me a hard time about going, that's why."

"And why do you suspect I would disapprove? Keeping you like a caged bird is not my intent dear. While your century may be more evolved than ours, the one that you now reside in holds its fair share of treacherous villains whose only vocation is to prey on unsuspecting men and women. Evil lurks on the streets of Paris. Can you not see this Gabrielle, or are you too stubborn?"

"Hello kettle? This is the pot, you're black…sheesh Erik, your name is in the dictionary under the word stubborn."

With this remark he gritted his teeth. "I am merely concerned for your well being woman. Your insolence annoys me!"

I'm not sure why it happened, but this remark tickled me, causing a tiny smirk to creep upon my lips. "Erik, I'm sorry for making you worry. I wasn't thinking. You're correct, there is still much I don't comprehend about my surroundings. I am sorry to have worried you."

_Was this me backing down? I wondered what spell had been cast upon me._

Erik's face fell, and he sighed heavily, "Gabrielle, you make me _feel _again; I don't know how to handle such emotions. Living with Erik is like living with a cancer; disgusting, destructive, and unwelcome. This is why I cannot share a life with anyone."

"Erik, lord knows you have scads of emotional scar tissue to deal with, but you are _not_ a cancer. You are a caring and passionate human being, capable of wondrous things."

He placed his elbows on the arms of the chair, slumped forward, and buried his head in his hands. "Oh Gabrielle," he moaned. "You have no idea how deeply embedded the blackness in my soul is. I am a wretched, wretched, man. I do not deserve a moment of your empathy or affection."

I reached out and touched his knee in consolation, "Oh, Erik, you deserve more than affection from me, you deserve my respect, although I have not treated you with it these past few days have I? Look here, all people have a measure of darkness in their souls. Nothing is unforgivable. Besides, you haven't harmed me; frightened me some, but not harmed."

He absentmindedly ran his hand over the edge of his mask, "My intent was never to harm you Mademoiselle. It was imperative that you stop and listen to my directives. Reason has seldom worked well for me; that is why I choose physical action to attain my goals."

"Um, you might want to work on that, most women don't appreciate being manhandled. Well maybe in the bedroom…"

He raised his head and looked at me curiously.

"Just a hint of levity to lighten the mood, but no, women generally do not respond well to a heavy hand. Good advice to heed in your relations with the fairer sex, Erik."

"You would not be the first woman to convey such wisdom to me," he responded soberly.

I grasped his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "You know what I think a big part of our problem is, Erik? We're simply on a different page right now, that's all. In time you and I can learn to communicate on a more parallel level," I added hoping to appeal to the architect in him.

"Hey, look at me babe," I eased his head up to face me. "Misunderstandings can be cleared and wounds healed. I would like to get to know you better, to grow closer; you don't have to tell me more than you want to divulge, but I require your trust in my intentions. When you don't understand something I have or have not done, tell me, don't assume. I know you have dealt with nothing but hot and cold running assholes your entire life, but as a rule, I am not one, at least not on purpose."

His eyes met mine, and he cleared his throat, "Gabrielle, I am bereft of words to say. You are a curious woman, but I trust you more than most people. I cannot deny my feelings for you; but to act upon them, that is the only thing in this world that frightens me. You see; these _relationships_, as you call them, do not end well for me. I am not sure such conventional privileges are meant for the likes of me."

Erik released my hand, stood and walked to my writing desk. He picked up the bottle of jasmine massage oil I had used the night I massaged his sore muscles. A small, lonely smile appeared on his lips as he rolled the bottle around in his hands.

"Erik," I called from the bed, "You know what I think? I think I'd rather try and fail in love than not try at all. Relationships aren't easy, but if you find the right person, it can be worthwhile. Compare it to your music. It often takes you a long, long time to complete a score, am I correct?"

"Quite," he nodded in agreement.

"OK, so you're in your music room, your creative juices are flowing and you're writing like a wild man, then poof, there goes the inspiration. You walk away for a while hoping a break will help revive your mind, but it doesn't. You write some more, but you hate it, crumple up the parchment in frustration, and toss it away. This frustrating process keeps up until finally, viola, it all clicks and you compose the most beautiful music of your career."

The bottle of jasmine oil slipped from his fingers and rolled to the floor. Erik turned and stared at me. His narrowed eyes and slight pout,communicatedconfusion.

"What I mean is, you don't give up your music simply because it's occasionally difficult do you?"

"No, that would be highly illogical."

"Love is like that too, Erik. _Highly_ illogical."

**- O -**

_**There you are. Warm chocolate brownies to all who plan to review. Cookies for the rest of you too. Just a note: If you have been affected by the Katrina disaster in the Gulf, my thoughts and prayers are with you. Peace - Leesa**_


	25. Ch 25 Loose Lips

**_--- I don't know why some of you got Ch - 24 twice(?). Ghosts perhaps? Sorry if it was confusing._**

_This one's a bit fluffy, but then Erik needs a little fluff every now and then. If you read this, **please** review for me, even if it's a short one. I'm trying to figure out why my reader numbers are down.You may not realize how much it means to receive reviews form you. I know you read lots of these, but this is my first fanfic and It helps me to become a better storyteller.I love Erik and Gabrielle and I want you to too! For those of you who review on a regular basis, I can't thank you enough for_ _taking the time to do so! - Leesa_

**_- Leesa_**

**Re-cap: Erik revives Gabrielle after hunters find her passed out in the freezing woods. She tells him that being in love is a lot like composing his music.**

**Ch 25 – Loose Lips**

"Love," Erik, snorted distastefully, "whatever that is."

I sat with my hands folded in my lap, looking up at him pensively. I didn't know what to say to him. Love was something one could not explain—it had to be experienced.

An uncomfortable silence arose between us.

Erik bent down to retrieve the bottle of oil he had dropped on the carpet and put it back in its rightful place on the dressing table.

"More tea?" he asked as he reached for my cup.

"No thank you. If I drink any more of it, I'll spend most of my night visiting the water closet. From the throbbing in my ankle, I'd say that wouldn't be a pleasant experience."

"Yes, well, I do see your point." Erik placed the cup on the table, next to the teapot.

He reached over to brush a damp strand of hair from my face. He looked concerned.

"Keep it propped up on the pillows Marie placed under the covers for you. Would you like me to fetch some laudanum for you?"

"Laudanum, what is that?"

"It's an opiate for pain. It will also allow you to rest."

"Ah, yes, one of the 19th century's gloriously addictive cure-alls. I suppose I could use a bit of the stuff seeing that I am in an enormous amount of pain, but not too much—don't want a monkey on my back you know."

"A monkey?"

"The clinging animal of addiction." I explained

"I see." He turned to the table and plucked the thermometer from its place inside a water glass. "Here, I want to check your temperature again to see how you are fairing before you give way to slumber."

I opened my mouth like a little bird and allowed him to place the instrument under my tongue. Satisfied that I would be all right for a moment, he left to get the medication.

There was a whirling in my head and my ankle hurt mightily. I was beyond weariness and wanted nothing more than to sleep for a long, long time.

Erik returned quickly with a small amber vial in one hand and a box in the other. He set both items on the bedside table.

"Alright, let's see how much your temperature has improved since Marie last checked it." He removed the thermometer from my lips and held it toward the lamp.

"38.6, much improved, Gabrielle. How are you feeling?"

"Rode hard and put up wet, which is Americana-Western for really, really bad. Even though I am warmed, I still feel very cold; it's as if this blasted shivering won't stop."

Erik seemed to comprehend my colloquialism. He pulled the cork on the vial and poured out a tablespoon of the laudanum. "Take this. You should experience relief quickly."

I leaned forward to meet the spoon, taking the medicine into my mouth. The stuff tasted beyond foul. I nearly spit it back at him. Instead I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.

_Past the lips and through the gums, look out tummy, here it comes_. I recited silently to myself.

"In a matter of moments your pain will be but a memory, temporarily, that is." Erik promised.

"I've heard stories about how good these old meds were. Woo-hoo, Alice in Wonderland, here I come," I laughed weakly.

Erik smiled at my sudden spark of exuberance. "I'll be sure to hide this from you then," he cautioned while wiggling the vial at me.

I motioned toward the bedside table, "What's in the little box?"

He picked it up, his long graceful fingers curled around the little box as heheld it out to me. "While I was in London, I happened upon a trinket that I thought you would like."

"A gift for me? Oh Erik, it's not necessary, really…" I protested, feeling rather guilty.

"Nonsense, it is a gift."

Curiosity got the best of me. I took the jewelry box from his hand and opened the hinged lid. Nestled on scarlet velvet was an exquisite bracelet of white gold orange blossoms. In the middle of each blossom was a small, round, ruby. My mouth gaped open as I looked from the box to Erik and then back to the box.

"Well, do you like it?"

"Oh, Erik, it's beautiful! Rubies! And look,they're set in white gold , my favorite…how did you know?"

"A fortunate guess," he shrugged.

Amazing man. For one of the few times in my adult life, I was speechless.

"Erik, I…I can't believe you bought this for me, it's extravagant."

"That matters not. I saw it in the window of a jeweler in the city and thought of you. Most of your personal belongings are lost to you now. I imagine women from your century still enjoy good jewelry?"

"True, but, this is an enormous surprise—please don't misunderstand, it is a lovely surprise, but I've upset you so lately, I hardly deserve a gift."

"Pffst," he waved me off with a flip of his hand. "Go ahead, put it on," he urged.

"Oh, ok." I was still stunned by his generosity. I lifted the delicate piece from its box and draped it over my left wrist. "Would you mind clasping it for me? The laudanum is beginning to do its thing and I'm afraid my coordination isn't too swift."

Erik squinted to see the tiny clasp in the lamplight before locking the mechanism and securing it to my wrist.

I held my arm out toward the light. It was a stunning piece. "I forget that women of this time period are smaller boned than where I come from, which is good news for someone with small wrists and ankles like me. Unfortunately, the rest of me doesn't match them," I laughed.

"A pretty trinket for a pretty mademoiselle," Erik said. I wasn't sure if my blush was a reaction to his compliment or the medication.

"I am deeply touched, Erik. I can find no appropriate words to express my gratitude, so I'll simply say thank you."

My eyes were misty when I bent forward to place a kiss on his lips. Our gazes met and lingered momentarily. Perhaps we were nearing a truce in our battle of wills.

I exhaled heavily and plopped back into the pillows.

"I see the drug is taking effect, but you are shaking. Are you still feeling the cold, Gabrielle?"

"In spite of my rising temperature, this chill will not go away."

He frowned, "What else can I do to make you comfortable?

"Torch the bed?" I joked.

"I do remember this special program I once saw on television. It was about how to survive in the wilderness should you find yourself stranded in inclement weather, like lost in snowstorms, avalanches and such. People would share their body heat by stripping naked and cocooning together. Somehow bodies transfer more body heat if they are naked rather than clothed, but they must stay ensconced in a sleeping bag or blankets."

Erik looked as if he wasn't sure if I were pulling his leg or not. However, I could see that my suggestion piqued Erik's interest.

"If you believe that such a method will help you, Gabrielle, I will be happy to assist. Nothing would please me more than to share my body heat with you if it will cease your shivering."

God, it was a tempting offer.

"The experts on the Discovery channel say it works."

"Very well then, I'll undress and join you under the covers." Concern, not lust, shone in his jade eyes.

A sudden attack of shyness took hold. A chasm had formed between Erik and me since he had left for London. What if the damage caused by our misinterpretation of each other's intentions was irrevocable? Yet here he was, offering to be my personal body warmer. What a most gallant gesture. I am sure nothing about the idea appealed to Erik's carnal side whatsoever.

The white shirt he wore was already unbuttoned from when he was reviving me in the tub. Off it came. He then sat on the edge of the bed and removed his trousers, socks and boots. Only his underwear remained. I stared at Erik and secretly marveled at the long neck that sloped down to solid shoulders and a well muscled back. In spite of the scars, his body was still a magnificent sight to behold.

I suppose I'm plenty warm now, I thought, as I began to feel flushed.

Staying mostly under the covers, I wiggled out of my heavy flannel nightgown and tossed it to the end of the bed, pulled the covers back up to my chin, and waited.

Erik turned to face me. "Well, shall I join you?"

"Erik, I need you to get something for me from the armoire first."

"Certainly, what is it you…"

"I'm feeling a tad too naked. Would you be a dear and bring me a pair of my unmentionables, those things I call panties? They're in the top left hand drawer—I hope you don't mind."

I hoped my request hadn't embarrassed him. Victorian folk didn't like to talk about such things as garments that touched a person's most intimate body parts, but you never knew with Erik. He could be surprisingly pragmatic about such things.

Dutifully, Erik walked to the armoire and opened the drawer. He peered in at the selection of modern underwear that I had packed for my New York trip. Finally, he said, "Any preference dear?"

"Oh, no, any one will do, you pick."

He held up a tiny red silk number for my approval.

"Those?"

"Why not?"

"Never mind, just bring them here."

He walked back to the bed and handed the garment to me. "Really Gabrielle, I don't know why you bother with these at all."

"Gimmie those," I snatched them from his hands and slipped them on under the covers.

"Now Monsieur Dupuis, come to bed and keep me warm." I invited, pulling back the covers for him to slip under.

With his white mask firmly in place, and little else, Erik turned down the bedside lamp and took his place next to me under the mound of down covers. Darkness made it impossible to see anything, but that proved to be no obstacle for a man who could see in the dark.

Erik reached out and touched my face gently. "Come to me, Gabrielle."

I met his embrace and he wrapped his arms around me protectively. The feel of Erik's warm, muscular, physique against me sent a new wave of shivers through my body—not the sort caused by cold, but by pleasure.

There was no denying it; Erik stimulated me both mentally and physically. Perhaps if we could break through the barriers of life past and present, we could find happiness together.

The laudanum was working its magic on me. No longer could I feel pain, and I was getting mighty woozy. I settled against Erik with a sigh.

"Are you warmer now my dear?" he inquired. His deep voice tickled my ear. "Umm humm, much warmer, yess," I slurred slightly. "And the pain went bye-bye too."

"Very well then," he chuckled. "Rest now Gabrielle, all will be better come morning."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Slowly, softly, he began to hum a tune I recognized. I guess he had heard it on my IPOD during one of his listening sessions and liked it. The song was Savage Garden's Truly, Madly, Deeply. I let the words float through my mind while he hummed:

_I want to stand with you on a mountain.  
I want to bathe with you in the sea.  
I want to lay like this forever.  
Until the sky falls down on me..._

Erik began to sing:

_And when the stars are shining  
brightly in the velvet sky,  
I'll make a wish send it to heaven  
then make you want to cry  
the tears of joy for all the pleasure  
and the certainty…_(Harnisch, 1997)

A stream of conscious thoughts began to spill from my loose lips, interrupting him.

"Erik?"

"Yes darling?"

"Do you think I'll ever fit in here, in your world?"

"It is quite possible, yes."

"Erik? Do you think you'll ever get used to my idiostync, idiosrync—oh pooh, my weirdness?"

I think I heard him stifle a weary laugh.

"Gabrielle, do not worry about such things now. For me to judge you as being weird would be like, what is it you say, the kettle calling the pot black?"

"Erik…"

"Shush now and go to sleep darling," he cooed in my ear.

"I only wanted to tell you that…I love you."

- O -

_**You reviews have been great. Please keep them coming! As always, props to Amy, my beta. **_

_The survivalist part is true. So if you survive an avalanche or get caught stranded in a blizzard, do it with someone hot, like Erik. _

_- Helpful hints from your author, Leesainthesky_

**Truly, Madly, Deeply, Toby Harnisch/****Savage Garden © 1997**


	26. Ch 26 All You Need Is Love?

_First off, thank you all for taking time out of your lives to review for me! I know school has begun for many, and everyone is très busy._ _Your reviews mean a lot. I received many great suggestions and comments, too numerous to mention here (plus the Fan fic folks get picky if I mention names— boo). If you are following my fic, please take the time to drop a line or two. I guess Iam just a needy creative type who needs attention. Also, my beta is off for a few days, so I am the only one to proof this; I hope the mistakes aren't too ghastly. _

_Again, merci, Leesainthesky_

**RE-cap: As Gabrielle drifts off to sleep in Erik's arms, she tells him that she loves him…**

**Chapter 26 – All You Need Is Love?**

In the morning, Erik was gone. When I finally emerged from my laudanum-induced coma, I reached out for him, only to find unoccupied linens.

Although the effects from the drug had worn off, as evidenced by my aching ankle, it left a thick fog in my brain.

I rolled onto my back and willed my eyes to focus on the canopy overhead. Clips of all that had happened yesterday flickered on the white material like a movie. A subtle feeling tugged at my mental periphery—I was missing something—but what?

I recalled being brought back to the manor, the bath, tea, taking that vile tasting medicine and bits and pieces of conversation.

Erik and I had made our peace, each explaining to the other the true intent of our actions these past few days. I suffered from boredom, the absence of my former life and a need for control over my existence. For Erik there was, fear, and concern for my well being. I'm sure a good dash of his need for control was also thrown into the mixture.

Glancing at my outstretched hand,which rested where Erik had lain, I saw the ruby bracelet. I remember how stunned I was by Erik's generosity and thoughtfulness. I remember how he held his nearly naked body against mine for warmth and sang me to sleep. But, there was something else, something important… damn, how I hated not remembering things!

There was a brief knock on the door. Marie entered without waiting for my reply. She carried a tray with tea, and some sort of food and placed on the bedside table.

"How are you feeling this morning, dear?" she asked while reaching for the thermometer.

"Just dandy, Marie. Erik gave me some laudanum last night for the pain. It's worn off by now. He was going to look at my ankle this morning. Have you seen him?"

She shook the mercury down to the end and motioned for me to open my mouth so I could receive the thermometer.

"I've not seen Monsieur DuPuis yet, it is early. I suppose he is still sleeping. The man is loath to retire at a civilized hour. Can you move your ankle, Gabrielle?"

"A little," I made a face when I tried to wiggle the injured body part.

"Good. At least you have not broken it."

"Hurts like hell, though."

Marie frowned at my use of the expletive, "I can only imagine it does.

Madame, where is your nightgown," she yelped.

It lay on the floor, next to my side of the bed. That had to look bad. Nice ladies _did not_ sleep in the nude in 1877.

"Gosh Marie, I remember waking up and sweating profusely at one point. I must have pulled it off in my sleep…the laudanum you know."

"Oh my yes—you poor dear." She made a hasty move to my side of the bed, collected the garment from the floor, and handed it to me. "Here you are, I'll wait while you get decent."

"Now, let's see how that temperature of yours is this today."

She took the instrument from my mouth and scrutinized it closely. "Excellent. I see my hot tea and extra bed covers worked their magic. Your temperature has risen back to where it should be."

"Yes, thank you kindly for your care Marie, without it, I might still me shivering with cold."

I was sincere about my gratitude, but telling the older woman it was Erik's body that warmed my blood last night, would not have gone over well.

"You are quite fortunate Madame Thomassen. You could have frozen to death in those woods. What in the blazes were you doing roaming about the woods in this weather?"

"I needed some fresh air and got lost, that's all," I lied.

Marie picked up the tray from the table and placed it next to me on the bed. She shook her head while she spoke, "You are an American girl from the city, dear. The woods are no place for you to venture out alone. There are often wolves, and vagabond men hiding out in there. Next time you feel the need to stretch your legs, please do so in the garden."

I lowered my eyes, "Yes Madame Roux, I was being foolish, forgive me."

"Well, I suppose you have learned a hard lesson, dear. What's done is done. Eat so your strength will return to you." She smoothed down the front of her skirts, gathered the teapot and cup from last night and turned to go.

I eased myself up on the pillows and glanced at the alarm clock. Drat, I forgot to wind it, but I could tell from the sun shining into the room, it must be close to noon. Erik should be up by now. Where is he? I wondered out loud.

The laudanum left me in a sort of fuzzy, dreamy state of mind. In spite of my injuries, I felt, well…happy.I spent the night cuddled up in his arms. Sure, it was under the guise of keeping me warm, but the tenderness he displayed while holding me and singing me to sleep was undeniable. Remembering the Savage Garden song he had chosen last night made me smile. The words were beautiful and the fact that this cynical 19th century composer was singing it, made the experience surreal.

I will have to remind myself to limit his IPOD listening to one hour per month. There are only three more packs of batteries left and I'd like to enjoy my own century's music as long as possible.

Hoo boy, life with a man from the 19th century was complicated with a capital C. Even more so with Erik, because he didn't really care about societal norms of acceptable female behavior, yet he had normal expectations from growing up in his culture. It was up to me to sift through the pile of customs and find which ones he did care about and deal with those. My hope was that I could incorporate my own values to the 19th century ones that Erik didn't give a whit about.

I could accept his unconventional behavior if he could allow for mine.

While I was busy mulling things over and licking the jam from an almond croissant, Erik entered the room. He brought with him a try of assorted medical supplies that he set at the end of the bed.

"I need to take a look at your ankle," he instructed brusquely.

"Good morning to you to."

He moved a chair to the end of the bed next to the supplies, and sat down.

"Your ankle, Gabrielle, you'll need to push the covers aside so I may check out whatever damage there may be."

"Okey dokey." I sat up and pushed back the covers from my right leg. He leaned in toward my leg and began pressing lightly on the ankle. Erik made no attempt at conversation, his mouth was set in a straight line and he scowled ever so slightly while he worked on me.

Erik's manner was formal and stiff. Where was the warm and tender guardian who crooned dreamy songs in my ear last night?

I imagined him spending part of his morning ruminating over my flight and subsequent accident in the woods, deciding he should be peeved over my careless ability to place myself in harms way. I suppose I couldn't blame him, but still, hadn't we moved past it?

"Ow!" I jerked my leg upwards. "Why did you bend my ankle like that?" I cried when Erik began to manipulate my foot.

"Checking for mobility, which you obviously have by the way you lurched up and nearly bloodied my nose."

"Well it hurts, you should have told me you were going to do that so I could have braced myself for the pain, Erik.

"Where is the daring Mademoiselle who braves the riff raff of Paris and the frozen countryside for adventure and freedom? Can she not bear the discomfort of a sprained ankle?"

Erik was acting most strange and I had little clue as to why.

"Man, what's gotten into you this morning. Who pissed in your corn flakes?" I grumbled.

He ignored my snippy comeback. "I am going to wrap your ankle with a bandage. You will need a cane for walking. Healing may take up two weeks. After that I suggest you be careful with your activities for a while, lest you impede your recovery. The ankle will be weak from the sprain and needs to be strengthened. Do you understand Gabrielle?" He gave me a stern father-knows-best look and I nodded in understanding.

Erik wrapped a long bandage under the arch of my foot, over the top then looped it around my ankle; he repeated the process over several times until the bandage was spent. He secured it with a pin.

"Do not concern yourself with cooking for the next week. Madame Roux can handle those duties until you are able to stand on both feet."

"Are you sure? There must be something I can do. I have no desire to lie in bed like a lump and read all day as if I were a kept woman."

His expression hardened, "Gabrielle," he hissed, "You have never been a kept women under my roof."

"I-I know Erik, I was simply making light of the situation, as if I _were_ a kept woman, not that I really am."

"Gabrielle, have you any idea of who you in my house?"

"What do you mean by that?" He was beginning to get on my nerves.

Erik turned his head for a moment and clenched his jaw.

He turned back to face me. "Gabrielle, I know little about what makes your mind work. You are not like the women from my time. Your rationale for many of your ideas and actions confound me. I wonder if is it because you are a more highly evolved female and therefore more complicated to comprehend. Are you are sincere and earnest, or a cunning manipulator, keen at simple survival? I too am a master of survival tactics. If one has the will to live, one can make most any circumstance tolerable, dear."

I starred at him wide eyed. What was he getting at? The man's not stupid. Erik must have figured out some of what made me tick by now. The dude was seriously bi-polar. Too bad lithium hadn't been invented yet.

"Erik, dearest, what are you saying to me? I thought we had moved beyond why I wanted to go to Paris. I wanted to be social, to have fun—a normal activity for Gabrielle, 2005. Being social is not a normal activity for you; that is why I ceased bothering you with my need for it. I left afterwards because you frightened me—that lasso of yours. I also thought you…I don't know what I thought. You claimed that you were truly trying to protect me from what I didn't understand. We agreed to talk these things got from now on, so what's up with the cranky bedside manner today?"

"Gabrielle, when I made the decision to bring you here and help you to find your way in my world, I had no intentions of your staying long. You do an excellent job as my chef, you may continue that vocation here at the manor, but I have nothing else for you. Whatever additional needs and desires you wish to have fulfilled, I am incapable of accommodating."

_What in the hell was unfolding here? _

"My _needs_? You've seen to every single one of my needs, Erik. What's this crap you're throwing at me now? Last night you said we were okay. You and I have been…very close. I assumed the intimacy we shared was genuine. I do desire you immensely. Is it premature for me to speak of such things? I have but this life to live Erik, I am not going to waste it second-guessing myself. Do you find this confession offensive?"

"No, I find it flattering, but I cannot decide if you are sincere. I think to myself, is she trying to deceive me for personal gains? Is she confused, clinging to the only man she know in an unknown world; or could she be expressing gratefulness by sexually gratifying a disgusting ogre of a man who has saved her from harm and starvation?"

I smacked the bed with my hands, "Why Erik Dupuis, have you been sniffing glue? You're delusional!" What a demeaning thing to say to me! If I _were_ trying to be a kept woman, do you think I would have put up such a fuss truing to get away from here two days ago? Sure, there are instances where people who come together in times of adversity, share a post traumatic bond that often leads to incompatible relationships, but I am not doing that with you. In fact, enticing as you are, you are not an easy fellow to like. How dare you insinuate I would grant sexual favors for anything other than genuine affection? That's just plain cruel, Erik."

I choked back anger filled tears as I continued, "Where is this unexpected change coming from? Is it something I said or did last night? I was doing that drug you gave me, so I could have flown to China and back and not have known it."

Erik picked up the medical supplies on the bed; methodically placing them back on the tray. Without looking at me her spoke, "Gabrielle, laudanum can give a person what is called loose lips. People often speak what is sitting on the rim of their conscious mind, but would not otherwise divulge. The drug mimics truth serums, because what one says is the truth, but one not indented to be heard."

"And this all means…?"

"You do not remember, do you Gabrielle."

"I remember a sweet man who gave me a beautiful present and who held me all night to keep me warm. I remember you singing to me and kissing my cheek. I remember being happy, that's what I remember, Erik."

"Before you fell asleep, you told me that you loved me, Gabrielle."

Upon hearing this bit of news, adrenalin began to spike and flow. I grew hot with embarrassment. For weeks I had considered that I might love Erik, oh not just as a dear friend; that I had felt for a long time, but as a lover.

The more I knew him; the more I knew I wanted to be with him. But love is not a word to be tossed about lightly, especially when you are not even in your own time frame, and dealing with someone who has been gravely scared by love and who may not be able to love back.

I held onto my heart's secret, hoping for an appropriate time to share my revelation with Erik. If that time never came, he would know no better and my pride would remain intact. Good god, he wasn't handing this well at all. Obviously hearing my declaration of love freaked Erik out enough to turn his heart to stone. Once again my future lay in the hands of another.

"Erik, I said shakily," I honestly don't recall saying that, I do remember getting chatty and you laughing at me. I really said that, did I?"

"You said you loved me, therefore I believe that you think you must. TO think otherwise would be impertinent." He stared straight at me, his face expressionless.

"Well it is true. Now you know. I've been holding onto the secret for a while now, but I wanted to be sure of my feelings and of how you might receive them. I feel like a dumbass blurting it out in my drug-induced stupor. I'm mortified, Erik."

"Gabrielle, you know not what you say. There is so little you understand of Erik. If you did, you would hate him. Monsters are not acquainted with the workings of love. We do not know how to love back.

I pounded the bed with my fists, "Erik, you are not, not, not a monster! Maybe you once performed monstrous acts, I don't know the absolute truth. All I know is who you are now. Our cultural-time disparity coupled with our mutual willfulness makes relating complex at times; however, more daunting difficulties have been overcome by many a lover. If your feelings do not mirror mine, it's okay, really. Loving someone does not require that the other person love you back. It's nice, but not a prerequisite."

"That, Mademoiselle, is one truth I am privy to," he answered bitterly.

_I assumed this was a reference to the infamous Christine of his heart._

"I let slip my heart's secret, and now you are upset with me for it. Is being loved such a bad thing. You once said, all you needed to be good was to be loved."

"Did I? I said that to you—when? I do not recall speaking those words to _you_."

I scanned my mind for the incident. _Did_ he tell me or had I read it in the Leroux novel? That one line must really have been from Erik's mouth. Opps, I'd better insist that he did speak those words to me, or his methodical genius will figure out that I know more than what I have been telling him.

"Of course, how else would I have known you said it?"

Erik rubbed his chin and looked thoughtful, "I once thought it was all in the world I desired. Now, I have lived so long without love, I would only destroy the one who offered it to me. Gabrielle, your love for me would be like a pure sacrifice laid upon the alter of death."

I jumped up and knelt before him on the bed, ignoring the stab of pain to my ankle. "Erik, _no one_ is exempt from the privilege of being loved."

Swiftly he advance on me, ripped his mask off, and thrust his face within inches of mine as if to shock me. "Decades of enduring mankind's denial of my privileges as a human being—as a man have taught me that no one has been made by god with the facility to nurture a love for my kind," he growled.

"I loved Christine and she could barley produce pity for me. She once respected me, she loved my music, why, she even feared me, but love me? Ha! Erik laughed bitterly. "I understand possession and obsession, but I do not understand how to _love_ a woman, Gabrielle. Is that what you desire, my darling, would such a life be tolerable to your delicate sensibilities?"

"Please Erik." I ran the back of my hand lightly down the right side of his face, "I'll show you how; allow yourself be loved. I know you care for me, that is enough. Let me love you."

Upon hearing those words, Erik hung his head in remorse and left.

It was the last anyone in the manor saw of him for over a week.

**- O -**

_**Another trip to the angst club—relationships with people form other time periods are so exasperating! They'll move beyond this…promise. Please send me a review or two.**_

**XXOO - Leesa**


	27. Ch 27 Loving Erik

Thank you for your reviews. I received some very insightful ones and some humorous ones as well. They were great!

– _Leesainthesky_

**Re-Cap: Erik freaks out and disappears after Gabrielle professes her love for him...**

**Ch 27- Loving Erik**

Henri Roux was in the barn polishing tack and whistling a merry tune when I walked in on him, seeking the comfort of human companionship. I loved the smell of the barn: its hay, horses and fine leather. The old wood and beautiful animals satisfied something deep and natural within my soul.

"Why Henri, it appears you have some new friends to keep you company," I said eyeing the nest a mother cat had made for her new brood of kittens in a straw laden corner of the barn.

"That's Matilda. She's been with me for five years now, gives me a new batch of friends every winter. This is a petite litter; there are only four. Normally she has seven or eight kittens. Perhaps Madame Feline grew weary of so many little ones pulling at her teats," he chuckled knowingly.

"Where do they go, the kittens, when they are old enough to leave their mama?" I asked bending down for a closer inspection of the furry darlings.

"Here and there. They stalk the fields. Some stay around to catch the barn mice. Of all of these creatures, this little tabby has grown to be my favorite," Henri stopped rubbing saddle soap on an ornate black leather saddle and glanced over at the mewling brood.

"Erik doesn't mind having the place crawling with critters—er—felines?"

"Monsieur DuPuis? Ha, he is the one who brings out the scraps you save from our meals."

"No fooling," I grinned in amazement.

"Oui, our stoic friend has a soft spot."

"At least for the animals," I said sardonically.

Henri's aged face showed concern when he motioned for me to join him, "Please Madame, sit down and visit with me for a spell. A pretty lady is better company than the best of felines."

I pulled up a worn wooden stool and sat down.

"Henri, you need not flatter me for my company. I like spending time with you. You are wise and I like your saucy jokes. Besides, you don't treat me like a frail little woman."

"Because you are not. I have seen how well you ride the horses and I have witnessed you behind the barns. You wear men's work trousers while practicing some kind of martial art. You think no one can see you, but I often go back there to sneak a smoke. And there you are."

"Henri, I don't think your wife would approve if she saw me kicking and punching the air, much less wearing what we Americans call Levis. She already believes that I am an unruly Yank."

"Marie loves you like a daughter; she only criticizes what she cannot understand. You _are_ different, Gabrielle. You are strong and brave and kind. That is why Monsieur DuPuis admires you."

"Admires me? Pah! He admires my…um…you know, cooking, Henri. He cares for nothing more than his music, architecture, and maybe these cats." The mama cat allowed me to pick up one of her children, a tiny black one with a white mask. She purred considerably as I scratched her chin with one finger. "Got the pleasure thing down, don't you little one?" I spoke to the kitten. "Sorry, what were you telling me about Erik, Henri?"

"Only that our Monsieur Dupuis is not so uncaring as he seems, Madame Gabrielle. He has always been in possession of a good heart; there was merely no one in his life to draw it out of him."

_He should have heard our conversation four days ago_, I seethed.

"Well, my experience with our Monsieur Dupuis is that he cares not for the trifles of love," I retorted, attempting to hide the pain I felt in speaking such thoughts out loud.

"What hides between your words tells me more than what you say, Gabrielle. What is wrong, dear? Has Erik wronged you in some way?" Henri inquired uneasily.

"Wronged me? No, Henri—exasperated, yes. May I confide in you monsieur? As a woman, I know should consult your wife, but I need someone to talk to who is so much less…"

"Judgmental?" Henri smiled knowingly.

"Well put monsieur. I know it's not proper to engage in personal discourse with men, but I feel that you are no ordinary man."

Henri considered me for a moment, his twinkling blue eyes showed compassion. "And you, Madame, are no ordinary woman. Please know that there has never been a more trustworthy confidante than Henri Roux. Your secrets are safe up here," he pointed to his head.

"It's Erik. Damn it Henri—I love him!" I blurted out, expecting to see Monsieur Roux's eyes widen with surprise. Instead his kind blue eyes exuded only sympathy.

"I know."

"You know? How, Henri?"

"A woman in love moves with a certain grace. The way she smiles and speaks is different. She also wears her emotions on her sleeve—happy one instant, forlorn the next. You forget I have a daughter, Madame Gabrielle."

"You see _me_ acting this way? How embarrassing."

"Do not be embarrassed to love, Gabrielle. Besides, I am a watcher; it was my vocation in the war. I see what others do not."

"Then Monsieur Watcher, could you possibly tell me what you observe with Erik? He and I have shared a few intimate moments. Erik has treated me with tenderness and affection. He tells me how much he cares for me. Then, while in my laudanum haze I let the L word slip from my loose lips. He froze up faster than a chicken in a blizzard. He insists I don't know what I am saying, that he is not able to love…blah, blah, blah. Erik's denial both frustrates and saddens me, Henri."

"Erik aches to be loved, Gabrielle. Those few of us who know of his past know of this truth. Suddenly the fair Madame he adores proclaims her love for him—the only woman to do so in all of his 45 years of walking the earth. Well, what can he do but be a tad frightened?"

I stood and pushed the little stool back, "Frightened, why of course he is." I said slowly. "I never seriously considered the possibility. But what can I do, Henri? I am not demanding he love me back, I only want him to let me love _him_. Is this a bad thing?"

"Ah, dear Gabrielle, Erik has sealed his heart and mind to such emotions. If you lie to yourself long enough, when the truth comes to your door, you do not recognize it and turn away from it. Be patient, do not push or demand. Stay the course and in time, our Monsieur Dupuis will come around. He is a fool if he allows his stubbornness to rule him, and I may well tell him so!"

_Henri, giving Erik a severe dressing down— wouldn't that be interesting? _

"Have patience you say? Lordy Henri, you'll see a lot more of me behind the barn kicking and punching things, you know. Where is Erik, anyway? I haven't seen him in four days and the horses are still here," I motioned to the full stalls.

"Holed up in the manor I would say; the man has many hiding places. In Persia he designed palaces with many secret trap doors in them. He was known as the trap door lover."

_Another truth from Leroux's novel; although many of his details were fiction, I wondered how many of them weren't._

"Do you have any idea where these secret places are?" I asked coyly, hoping to charm Henri into divulging them to me.

"No, and neither should you, unless you wish to unleash the wrath of the Devil. Gabrielle, if Erik is in hiding, it can only mean that he needs the solitude for thinking and making choices. That could signal good news for you my dear."

Mother Nature was throwing one last mad snowstorm at the French countryside before her submission into spring the day Erik re-appeared from the depths of his manor. I had been in the library, curled up in front of the fire with an afghan over my lap picking my way through Chaucer's Middle English translation of French poetry.

For the first time all week my spirit was calm. The heavy wet snow falling outside of the library's beveled windows was beautiful and peaceful. Jasmine tea and a roaring fire add to my cozy haze.

"Good day, Madame Thomassen," Erik's melodious voice interrupted the quiet.

Hearing his voice was so unexpected I jumped and spilled a few drop of tepid tea on my dress.

"Reading Guillaume's Le Roman de la Rose, I see."

"E-Erik?" was all I could muster. I gawked at him standing just inside of the library's massive oak doors with his hands clasped behind his back. He was immaculate in his black frock coat and double-breasted vest. The man had the maddening ability to take my breath away.

Erik advanced into the room and took the leather armchair by the fire so I had to turn to face him. He let his hands dangle over the arms of the chair and crossed one leg over the other before addressing me again, "An inexhaustible poem of endless longing, a rose, a kiss and rejection. A bleak truth indeed."

"An impermanent condition relieved in the end by Jean de Meun's amorousconclusion. If you remember clearly Monsieur DuPuis, the lover finally penetrates the inner sanctum of his rose, and the poem ends in awakening," I had regained my composure enough to refute his bleak interpretation of the 13th century poem.

_The thing was 22,000 lines long; perhaps he hadn't read the entire prose. No, this is Erik I am thinking of, of course he finished it; probably read Chaucer's Middle English transcription too. _

He laced his fingers together and touched them to the cleft in his chin.

Many thoughts of what to say filled my mind. Should I tell him that I've missed him, or ask him how he's been? Maybe I could launch into a diatribe on how I was sorry for being so difficult to understand. To him, I must be a terribly imprudent and strong-willed female. I wanted to ask him to imagine how vastly different my life was before Paris. Staying holed up in his mansion was not helping to acclimate me to this century. Shouldn't Erik understand this? There was so very much conflict, confusion and pain for me living in the 19th century. I could just tell him to forget the whole thing—forget about love and just plunge into a mindless succession of searing sexual encounters. Or I could simply sit and wait for Erik to make the next move, which is what I did.

"You look lovely, Gabrielle, that color suits you," he complimented my burgundy day dress.

"Thank you, Erik. I've missed you, enigma man."

The corners of Erik's mouth twitched slightly, itching to smile.

"Why?"

"You know why."

"Believing is difficult for me, Gabrielle."

"I know, Erik."

"Remember when I found you in Paris. You kicked me and called me a freak. Such an attack seemed out of character for you. Your words cut me deeply. Why Gabrielle? Why did you call me a freak?" His face mirrored the pain in his heart. I felt horrible.

"Oh Erik, forgive me," I whispered. "Number one, I was extremely angry and frightened; number two, in my time, calling someone a freak has many connotations: It stands for anyone acting in an unusual or extreme manner. My favorite expression is to say, _you are freaking me out_, which just means you are upsetting me. I meant it in no other way. Please, please believe me."

I put aside my book and teacup and rose. I walked over to where Erik sat by the fire and knelt by his chair.

"Do not kneel before me, I am not worthy of it."

I reached up to him, which he interpreted as a request for assistance. Erik took my hand and stood, pulling me with him. We remained standing, with the unease of shyness and words unspoken hovering over us.

"Put your arms around me, Erik

"Gabrielle, I don't—," he began to protest tersely.

"Just do it."

He obeyed and embraced me tentatively.

"Feel the pleasure of being held by another, feel the warmth of my body, and its contours." I returned his embrace and urged him hold me closer. "Let yourself melt into me. Smell my fragrance; touch my hair. Be still and know me. Look into my eyes and find my soul reaching out to yours."

Erik relaxed his embrace to meet my gaze. His lips were slightly parted. A look or wonder blazed in his brilliant green eyes.

"Now, kiss me."

"Oh Gabrielle," he whispered huskily, and then lowered his head to kiss me.

Ah, Erik's soft, lush lips. His kiss was gentle and lingering. I sighed and slid my hands up his neck and into his dark hair. I inhaled his musky essence.

He broke contact momentarily. Erik searched my face intently.

I smiled up at him. "My dark lord, you move me so," I whispered, my words encouraging him to taste me again. This time his kiss was unyielding. Erik urged my lips apart and slipped his tongue into my mouth. He grunted and sighed as our kisses deepened. Erik's large hands roamed over my back, slipping down to my hips where he caressed me, moving his fingers in light circles on my bottom. My body tingled with delight.

This time I broke away to look at him. I ran my palm over the visible side of his face. He closed his eyes and moved his head in accordance to my touch.

"Gabrielle, I want to be good to you. I want to give you all that I am capable of. Can you be patient with me? Can you wait for my heart to open up, for me to learn how to accept the kindness and love of another?" he implored, grasping my hand and bringing it to his lips.

"Yes, Erik. Trust in my love and in me. You know, I too have been injured by cupid's matchmaking. If we grow together, our wounds can be healed. Teach me what I need to know and I will teach you. I am far from being an expert, but that's what's so wonderful about being us. Ignorance is a blessing because we do not have any preconceived notions about one another. We know we are different. What we have in common knows no timeline or cultural bounds. You and I can create our own rules for living, our own place in this world for us and no one else."

Erik pulled me down next to him on the sofa and held my hands. "I am a master at designing my own world of unending night. Yet, I once dreamt I could create a world of light where I could be loved for me."

"And so you can. It can be o_ur_ world, Erik."

He scanned the library, sweeping an elegant hand through the air at the expanse of the room. "My domain, it offers me many comforts, except for the one I have craved the most. Gabrielle, I know not where this journey will take us, but your willingness to embrace who and what I am endears you to me."

Erik's words comforted me with compassion and hope.

"My dearest Gabrielle, I have spent time in seclusion considering the shell that is my life. You are one of two people, the dear Madame Giry the only other, who has offered me uncommon kindness and bolstered my flagging self-esteem. If others would move beyond my appearance, they too would be privy to my genius and talent. I have learned to approach the world with cautious affinity and I am not fond of most social occasions, which require I rub elbows the bluenoses of humanity. However, I know that you are in need of such affairs; therefore I have made the decision to accompany you on a limited number of outings of your choosing."

"Am I hearing you correctly? Are you proposing a kind of courtship, Erik?"

"So then, what you are proposing is your custom of courting?"

"- Ahem -, perhaps. If you would like, we may call it that. It is the proper decorum when a gentleman wishes to spend time with a lady he fancies."

"We've lived in the same manor house for eight months, and now you wish to court me? This is rich."

He frowned, "Do you mock me, Madame?"

"Heavens no! I am delighted at your decision to put your comfort aside to please me. In fact, I am rather awed by it."

"I have considered that you might enjoy visiting London with me. It is imperative I return in three days to sign some papers for M. Mangeot. While there, you should shop for new dresses. I noticed you have plumped up a bit and are in need of new frocks. A pretty woman should have many, Gabrielle. Then we shall go to supper, and stroll through the streets of London if you wish."

"You would do that for me?"

"_Only _for you, darling."

"I'm not fond of these dresses, but I do need more things. And hey there buster, what's up with that plumped up comment? Are you saying that I have gotten fat?"

Erik looked slightly startled, "Fat? Whatever do you mean, Gabrielle? I never said you were fat. When you arrived here you looked emaciated, dear. I thought you might have been starving. You were skin and bones, now you have lovely round curves."

I began to laugh, "Finally, a feature of the 19th century that I can live with; I don't have to starve myself anymore. Whoo hoo, look out chocolatiers; here I come! So skinny women are thought of as low class, and plump, which is really normal for a woman, is beauty." I vaguely remembered reading about this in a fashion history class I once took in school.

"Come to think of it, your French ballerinas are petite, yet still have flesh on their well toned bodies. The famous 20th century choreographer and musician, George Balanchine, is to thank for the emaciated dancer look."

"How positively repellent."

"I couldn't agree more; some of them look more like boys than graceful swans of the stage."

"In accordance to a proverb of the Ardennes, there is no such thing as a beautiful skin on bones, and I must concur. I find your new ripeness to be a chief delight," this last part Erik said while he consumed me with his gleaming jade eyes.

He had such a way of making me feel positively naked.

"In my time thin is in. The television and pictures add ten to twenty pounds to a person's image. My producer at Chicago Tonight was forever harping on me to lose weight. In 2005, at 118 pounds, I was considered close to being too heavy for the camera. And here you think the twelve pounds I've gained since being here is beautiful? Another reason to love you, Erik!" I smiled at him gleefully. By the look on his face he must have thought me bonkers.

"Your healthy appetite is an agreeable condition in a lady, as long as you do not allow yourself to become stout."

_Was he goading me_?

"Yes Monsieur, I adore French cuisine and shall grow as big as your barn, then you will have more curves to ogle than you bargained for," I teased.

"A proper amount of calisthenics will be in order to keep such an occurrence at bay my, dear," he winked at me devilishly.

"You rogue!" I smiled back.

"Vixen."

Erik embraced me once more and nuzzled my neck. I brushed back a loose lock of hair and succumbed blissfully to his affections.

"Would you think me terribly forward if I were to carry you off to my bedroom this instant?" he purred.

"In the middle of the day? Erik, what a bold rascal you are. What will Marie think if she hears us while she is cleaning upstairs?" I squirmed with delight as he nipped at my earlobe.

"Who cares? I am in desperate need of female nurturing," he growled seductively.

Erik's silken voice sent icy sparks up my spine.

- O -

_**Author's note**: Please do continue your reviews. A note to a reviewer who mentioned that Gabrielle has been in 19th century France long enough to drop her modern slang: An excellent insight, people do tend to adapt to the cultures where they live. I don't want Gab to lose her original personality altogether, though. My step-mom is a good example. She is from Australia and still says lollies for candy and bloody this and that when she's agitated. Thanks for the input. Keep them coming! Kisses to all – Leesa_

**French poem of eight-syllable couplets. It is in two parts. The first was written (c.1237) by Guillaume de Lorris, the second by Jean de Meun (c.1270-7). **


	28. Ch 28 Afternoon Delights

_**Big warning kids; This chapter earns it's **_**M****_ rating, so if that's not your cup of tea, skip it, or email me and I'll send you the chapter without the erotic stuff._**

_**I hope you are all well. Thank you for reading this story and reviewing. It will be finished. - Leesainthesky**_

**Re-cap:**

**Erik and Gabrielle make up. He talks about asking her shopping in London…**

**Ch 28 Afternoon Delights…**

_Tell someone you love him and the equilibrium of the relationship will shift. Monsieur Dupuis and I were now on uneven footing, and that made me uneasy. Erik had not professed to love me back, yet In spite of my misgivings, my desire for him could not be quelled. The quandary was: How would I lavish TLC on Erik without overwhelming him?_

"Shall we retire to my bedroom, my sweet?" Erik suggested quite-matter-of-factly.

I peered over his shoulder and into the hall, nervous that Madame or Monsieur Roux would suddenly appear.

"Do we dare, I mean, it's the middle of the afternoon, Erik?" I said somewhat surprised by his sudden flirtatious behavior.

Erik moved to embrace me; his eyes glowed with carnal interest. He slipped both arms around my waist and pulled me against him.

"Tell me Gabrielle; is there a more proper time of day for a rendezvous? I'm not keen on embarrassing myself by making an improper suggestion."

"Yeah, right," I chucked him under his chin. "You rascal, I will bet you your violin that I can coax you into bed regardless of what position the sun takes in the sky."

"Really now?" Erik raised his visible eyebrow and chuckled, "Madame Gabrielle is rather sure of her prowess now isn't she?"

"Even the most disciplined of men has his, shall we say soft spot?" I titled my head sideways and grinned.

Erik nodded his head in the direction of the main staircase, "I bid you, upstairs now!"

I pulled away from him, my right hand still holding onto his, "Erik, I should go first, in case Madame Roux is about. I don't think it would be wise for both of us to go upstairs in the middle of the day at the same time. Marie's not a stupid woman, you know."

"Discretion, yes, of course—I would not wish to soil your image with the righteous Madame Roux. You go first, and I'll follow. The door to my room is open at the moment," Erik instructed.

"Maybe you should wait a good fifteen minutes before joining me—just so it doesn't look too fishy."

"Fifteen minutes?" Erik exclaimed. "Why must I wait so to join you? This is _my_ house and I am inclined to do as I please!"

I rolled my eyes, "Come now Erik, I'm only being tactical."

"If you insist Madame," he sighed with resignation. "I shall oblige your forethought. But I had better find you in my bed…naked," his eyes never left mine while he kissed the back of my hand.

_Naked in his bed…good lord, the man was killing me._

I winked at him, turned on my heels, and left the library with my skirts swishing behind me.

I'd only ventured into Erik's bedroom a few times before, back in my early days of changing linins.

The room was as I remembered—lots of gold and black silk and velvet, heavy dark wood furniture, and marble. All of the draperies were closed giving the room the appearance of dusk. I made the decision to draw back the draperies that covered the French doors leading to the balcony. Small panels of muted light streamed into the room. Feathery snowflakes fluttered from the heavens, transforming the landscape below into a sparkling fantasyland, the perfect backdrop for a lazy afternoon of amour.

I crossed over to the washstand, undressed and laid my clothes on a nearby chair. After sponging off, I headed for his massive bed.

Getting into Erik's bed was not easy, the mattress sat up high and I could not find a stool—I assumed Mr. Long legs didn't need one. I hoisted myself up onto the bed, rearranged several ornate pillows, turned back the covers and snuggled beneath them.

Many nights I could hear Erik pacing the length of the hallway. I wondered what demons robbed him of sleeping in a bed so amazingly lush and comfortable?

In ten more minutes he would be with me—ten maddening minutes. Waiting always made me apprehensive, so I turned up the gas lamp by the bedside and searched for reading material to occupy my time.

A thick book lay next to the lamp. I reached for it, and scanned the cover title. _My, my monsieur, what have you been up to?_

Leafing through the pages, I was amazed to find beautifully illustrated depictions of women and men engaged in erotic foreplay. Whoever authored this book, had a keen grasp of human sexuality. Normally sexual relations of most 19th century cultures consisted of a wham-bam-thank-you-man sort of rutting.

The difference with the French was, that although they were publicly prudent people, in private, they approached the art of lovemaking with ardent zeal!

Poetic, yet precise prose accompanied the illustrations, expounding on the joys of what made each particular act enjoyable.

I became all too quickly engrossed in my reading when I was startled my Erik's presence in the room. Somehow he'd opened and closed the door without making a sound.

He strode to one of the twin armoires and meticulously hung up his clothes, then drew out a stunning red silk and black silk robe, which he slid into and headed to the washstand where he removed the mask and splashed his face.

Quickly Erik smoothed his dark hair into place and hid behind the mask once more.

I watched his movements with wonder. The man moved so elegantly, so stealthily. His was a presence of parallel darkness and light—softness within hardness. I longed to touch him, to whisper lovingly in his ear, to sooth his hurts and reassure him of his magnificent masculinity.

As he neared the bed, our eyes met and we smiled knowingly at one another.

"My dear, I see you've been engrossed in my nightly reading material."

Somewhat embarrassed, I closed the book and placed it back on the side table.

"Interesting reading, Erik, I do admire a man with a curious mind," I smirked at him in an attempt to hide my discomfort.

"Is Madame Thomassen curious to know what I have learned from perusing its pages?" he inquired while he sat next to me on the bed.

"Um, what you _have_ learned? I was of the impression that you already knew all that was worth knowing, darling. What else could there be?" I cocked my head innocently.

"You'll pay dearly for your smart mouth, Madam," Erik grinned, and ran a solitary finger down the side of my face to the top of the coverlet.

I let the covers fall away from, allowing Erik access to my breasts. He cupped them both gently, juggled them around is his hands, and then lightly palmed my nipples.

"These have the most exquisite texture," he said enthusiastically. "They are unlike anything I have ever felt—even softer than the finest silk or velvet," he marveled.

Erik's eyes shifted back to mine, "Gabrielle, stand on your knees—in the bed."

Without questing why, I did as I was told. I balanced on bed on my knees and posed for Erik's perusal.

Like this?"

"Yes," he whispered huskily, while drinking in my nakedness. Erik knelt before me and ran his graceful hands down my arms before resting the on the swell of my hips. "You inspire me in new and unimaginable ways, Gabrielle. "

I shivered with desire.

"Are you chilled my darling?"

"Chilled?"

"You have goose flesh"

I shook my head emphatically, "Oh no, not cold, nope, not one iota. It's the heat radiating from you, your hands, your mouth, those penetrating green eyes, yours mesmerizing voice—god Erik, everything about you effects my senses in ways that no other man ever has."

"Erik's lips parted slightly. He bent in and granted my lips a demure kiss, then sat back. His jade eyes were wide with wonder, "Gabrielle, my mind cannot fathom why a woman as sensual as you could be aroused by a monstrosity like me? I feel like a thief when I touch you."

I looked him squarely in the eyes, "Stop saying such things about yourself, Erik. To me you are all that is sensuality in a man. I am not lying to stroke your ego. That is not my way. Do me a favor for the time we are together this afternoon, do not think— simply, be. Let your hands and thoughts roam where they will. Allow yourself to be the man that you are."

Erik's eyes took on a sharp, intensity. He enfolded me in his arms and laid me back into the pillows. For that moment on, sensation was all we knew. I hardly remember untying the sash on his robe and sliding the thing from his body. His trousers, I do recall urging his trousers off of him—he had a proud hard on that would not be ignored.

Hands teased and rubbed, legs tangled and entwined. Our lips kissed and our tongues licked everywhere possible. Sighs, moans and unintelligible whispers filled the air like musky perfume. Eventually Erik's trail of kisses found the path to my secret garden. He skimmed his fingers over the skin on the inside of my thighs and I whimpered.

Using the back of one hand, Erik urged my thighs open and began nipping at the sensitive flesh between my legs.

"My darling Gabrielle, from the amount of sweet nectar dripping from you, I see that I _do_ arouse you greatly," he murmured with satisfaction.

"I would not be acting as a proper French libertine if I did not see to your needs now would I?" With those words Erik plunged his tongue into me and began licking about. This glorious torture of his continued for a long time, making me squirm with unabashed pleasure. Suddenly I flinched and gave a small kick with my right leg. "Oh!"

"What have I done?" Erik peered up at me with concern on his damp face.

"Nothing bad, you've nipped the smallest and most sensitive spot on my body, "I explained.

"Oh dear, I am dreadfully sorry, my apologies, darling, I will take care to be more gentle on the little pink bud," he sounded a bit mortified.

"Make no mind of it love," I reassured him, "Navigating the garden can be a trial and error adventure."

Erik approached lovemaking with the same emotional deftness he used to compose his music. Beginning _largo_, working up to steady _andante _rhythm, then pulsing up to a intense _prestissimo_, before concluding in a frenzied crescendo of passion, and finally fading into soft echoing ripples, all under the maestro's thundering velvet hand.

A delicious pressure continued to build up inside me until I could take no more," I grabbed a fistful of Erik's dark hair, pushed my hips into his face and exploded with brilliant ecstasy. All I could do was whimper as though dying from pleasure. When I stilled, Erik rose up on his elbows, smiled at me and kissed my belly.

I patted the pillow beside my head, "Up here next to me my, please."

Erik obliged by rolling on his right side and siding upward. He buried his face in my hair. I nuzzled his neck and purred like a well-fed kitten.

"Erik," I giggled slightly embarrassed by the obvious, your mask, it smells of …my essence. Maybe next time you'll choose to remove it?"

"I'll savor your musk, for the remainder of this day my dear," he growled into my left ear.

Facing him, I reached up to stroke his cheek. "You are good…_very_ good. I'm forming an addiction to your touch. You'd best not toss me out into the cold cruel world anytime soon."

A frown wrinkled his forehead, "Toss you out, Gabrielle? Has your brain been fevered by ecstasy? What in devils name makes you think such thoughts? I've no intention of tossing you out. You belong here with me, do you not realize that by now woman?"

I smiled sheepishly and drew little invisible circles around one nipple with an index finger, "Nagging insecurity; you're not the only one who suffers from it you know." I lowered my head to kiss where my fingers had just been, causing Erik to groan with pleasure. Creeping lower with my kisses, I eventually found what had been silently flexing against the side of my leg.

Erik's majestic erection—I placed a loving kiss on the swollen tip, then licked at him until I felt his hand on my head, suggesting with a gentle push that I love him with my entire mouth.

I drew Erik as deep into my mouth as possible and suckled him until he was panting my name. This only urged me on. I quickened my pace to match the cadence of his hips, and felt him stiffen and gasp. Erik's hot release burst forth into me.

When I rose to lie next to him, Erik was staring at the ceiling.

I brushed a piece of damp hair from his face, "I do love you, Erik Dupuis," I whispered.

"My darling, Gabrielle, you amaze me," he said drawing me close and lazily stroking my back with his fingers.

We were drifting on a haze of afterglow when I heard Marie's voice from down the hall, "Gabrielle, are you in your room dear? It is late and I noticed you have not made any preparations for tonight's supper. Are you ill dear? If so, it is no problem for Henri and I to fend for ourselves, really."

"Oh boogers," I mumbled peevishly.

Erik chuckled deeply. "_Are_ you ill dear?" He mocked. "Shall I inform Madame Roux that at present, you are occupied with more pressing household matters?

"You're an uncommonly brave man, why don't you? I'll just hide here until Marie stops calling us me unkind names. It's always the woman who tempts the man into dishonorable acts, you know."

Erik sat up in bed, and fondled my beast, "Naturally it is completely your fault my dear. I am a mere innocent!" He then he bit me playfully on my neck.

_**There are more adventures to come. In the next few chapters we will meet Nadir and go to London with Erik and Gabrielle. **_

_**I hope you take the time to drop me even a quick review. I cherish each and every one of them! - Leesa**_


	29. Ch 29 Re send of evesdropping

_**This is a re-send**. For some inexplicable reason, when I uploaded this to the Fanfic site, it bunched up a large amount of text—my apologies for the inconvenience._

_Yea! Lots of great reviews. And you didn't even know it was my birthday. Seriously, reviews mean a lot, so please drop one in. kudos to my beta, Amy. _

_Thanks- Leesainthesky_

**Re-Cap: Gabrielle and Erik spend some quality time together in the bedroom, his old nemesis and friend, Nadir Khan plans to visit to the Dupuis Manor.**

**Ch 29 Eavesdropping …**

Spring came to Paris the like an opening night on Broadway: with much anticipation and fanfare, overwhelming the senses with a cacophony of color, sounds and scents. Once again, I was in love.

My relationship with Erik blossomed as well. We spent the majority of our time together. Often, we would sit in the library and read to one another passages from whatever book we had our noses in. Long hours were spent in his music room where I would teach him to play my guitar and he would help me strengthen my vocal prowess. I made him promise not to become impatient with my lack of talent; I was a passable choral singer, not a diva, and he was always patient with my inadequacies. Sometimes Erik would compose, and I would sit near him in an overstuffed velvet chair, with my legs curled under me, writing in my journal.

I continued to amuse him with farfetched tales of 2005. Naturally, Erik never tired of hearing about the technological and scientific advances of my century; he had actually predicted many of them. When I described architectural achievements like the Sears Tower or the World Trade Center towers, he was surprised only because they had been built sooner than he would have expected possible. Such designs had already been built in his imagination.

The advances of plastic surgery and nuclear medicine boggled his mind. I told Erik on many occasions how much of an asset he would be in my century, with his keen mind and brilliant creativity; there was nothing he couldn't accomplish. The sad part was in knowing that my society would have accepted him more readily than his own. Why couldn't he have come to my century instead of the other way around? There had to be a significant reason.

Our odyssey in the bedroom flourished. Erik and I spent an obscene amount of time exploring the avenues of eroticism that best pleased the other. He was a zealous, tender and attentive lover, with an ardent interest in the talents of my mouth.

Erik's need for physical contact was insatiable and I was more than happy to oblige him. Intercourse was, however, still taboo for us, not that I wouldn't have considered crossing that threshold with him, but only with extreme caution. Once that line is crossed, it truly does become the point of no return.

The temptation to go further nearly overrode Erik's sensibility, but he remained steadfast in his resolve not to consummate our relationship until he could at least say that he was in love with me. "Gabrielle," he would tell me, "you deserve to be with a man who can not only profess his love for you, but knows what it means. A true and devoted Mademoiselle like you needs a man who will make you his honest wife."

You see, in spite of Erik's dubious past, when it came to women, he lived mostly by a gentleman's creed. He was an ardent believer of respecting a woman's virtue.

I did know that Erik cared for me very much, but emotions confused him. With Christine, he thought what he had experienced was love. Perhaps it was, with a significant dose of infatuation tossed in. With little experience to go on and much to lose, Erik struggled with his emotional quandary until he could take it no more. He was, after all, a man used to being in charge; it rattled him to have his heart, his head, and his physical need warring with together. He needed the sort of guidance that only another male could give him, so he forwarded a letter to his ex-nemesis and current confidante, Monsieur Nadir Khan, the former police chief of Mazanderan, Persia.

Within days a return note confirmed that the Daroga would soon with us.

What to say about the Daroga? Monsieur Nadir Khan was a slight man in his mid-fifties. Most of the time he spoke French laced with a heavy Middle Eastern accent. He was polite, genial, and yet serious whenever it came to Erik. Theirs was an intricate relationship.

The Daroga once hunted Erik. My love, you see, served not only as a chief architect, but an assassin for the Sultan. It was a governmental position, one not uncommon in most of the world's regimes. Through a series of unusual events the Daroga helped Erik escape certain death at the Sultan's command and the two became unlikely allies.

Erik's lone disclosure to me was that he had designed a palace in the Mediterranean city. The rest I surmised must be one of few truths in Leroux's turn of the century Phantom of the Opera book, because Erik's eyes turned frosty and distant whenever I pressed him for details about those rosy hours spent in the service of Persian royalty.

Monsieur Khan came to call at the manor whenever he felt the urge to do battle with Erik in one of their unending chess matches. Although he lived in Paris, Monsieur Khan's visits had become less frequent due to his ailing health. My guess is the Daroga was also checking up on his old friend.

I'd had the pleasure of meeting the man only once, when I first came to live at DuPuis Manor. In the early days, because I was not yet well assimilated into 19th century customs and verbiage, I avoided lengthy conversations with most strangers.

Erik made casual mention of Monsieur Khan's visit. He was to arrive sometime after supper on March 14th and would be with us for two days and a night. I asked Erik if the man would enjoy dining on a selection of foods from his native homeland.

"I am certain he has not enjoyed much of it since coming to live in Paris, I myself often miss the aromatic dishes of the Middle East. Do you know how to prepare such authentic cuisine Gabrielle?" Erik posed the question to me with wonder.

"Sure. In Chicago, there were several authentic Middle Eastern restaurants. I told you I loved to eat and cook, so naturally I learned to make many of the dishes. You'll have to fill me in on which dishes you are most fond of so I can do a little homework on how to prepare them 1877 style." 

"There was a dish made with chicken or lamb, tomatoes and onions and I think saffron served with basmati rice. Most of those days I try to blot out of my memory, but I did enjoy the food. I believe that particular dish was called Joojeh Kabab," Erik offered.

"It actually sounds familiar, the ingredients anyway. I'll check it out when Marie and I go to market tomorrow. If you recall anything else, let me know. Are you sure this is a good idea, Erik? I don't wish to resurrect bad memories for you."

"Besides stunning sunsets and the scent of jasmine blooming, Persian cuisine is the only other thing I miss. Perhaps you can find mangoes this time of year too," he added hopefully.

Being able to create the deliciously pungent taste of the Middle East thrilled me. I was growing weary of fine French cuisine. My trip to market proved fruitful; Erik's mangoes were even available so I could make pudding for him. I shook my head when I thought of the voracious sweet tooth we both shared. The evening's menu would consist of herbed Naan bread with potatoes and feta and a salad of yogurt, cucumber and onion.

I dressed for supper, donned an apron and spent the hours up to mealtime preparing my Mediterranean delights. I'm not sure why it was so important for me to please Erik's curious confidante, but the drive was there and I intended for every dish to be perfect.

Dinner was served promptly at 8:30. Thankfully, the Roux's joined us because Erik was not always the winning conversationalist and I felt somewhat suspect around the Daroga. Perhaps it was his history in law enforcement that affected me in such a manner. When I'd finished serving the guest, I took my usual seat at Erik's right hand. Banal pleasantries such as weather, crops and who was to blame for some of Europe's' economic woes were discussed. All went well until the Daroga brought up America.

"Madame Gabrielle, how do you think the Americans will respond to receiving the gift of the statue of Liberty from the France? She's meant to be seen as an enormous symbol of freedom to the new world. I have heard many Europeans label Americans as being too gauche to know true art if it swatted them in the face. I am curious to hear your opinion on the matter, Madame?"

I wanted to tell him what she meant to those returning from the world wars, and of the brave and proud men and women of 9-11. To us, she was a symbol of strength and hope, a reminder that no matter how bad it got, we loved our country.

"I think Americans will accept her presence in our harbor most graciously, Monsieur Khan," I replied.

This answer earned me curious stares from four sets of eyes. "The harbor? There has been much speculation as to where her final American home will be.

"How can you be certain she will be affixed in the New York harbor, Gabrielle?" the Daroga asked.

_Yarks, I forgot she was still five years away from being shipped to America, and there had been much speculation as to where Mademoiselle Liberty would take up permanent roots._

"Not that I truly know, Monsieur, tis the only natural place, don't you think? Anyone going in or out of the port; traders, emigrants, weary travelers returning to their home will be cheered by the sight of the monumental Mademoiselle and her torch illuminating a safe passage."

Heads nodded all around the table.

"A sensible conjecture," the Daroga replied.

_Phew, good save, I thought_.

"Do you hear from you family much, Madame?"

_Geez, was this conversation or interrogation?_

I dropped my head and answered with all the brave sadness I could conjure. "Unfortunately, because my parents were along in the years when I was born, I am an only child. My relatives have all perished. The only ones living are my former in-laws in America. Since I'd yet to produce a grandchild for them like a proper daughter-in-law, they had little use for me, so I was shipped off to England where Monsieur Mangeot, my late husband's only brother and his family reside. Gracious people though they are, I'm afraid they have their hands full with six little ones."

Marie Roux straightened stiffly in her chair and held her head high while she spoke, "It is most unfortunate what a woman must go through in order to secure a suitable existence for herself. One would think our modern society would have advanced beyond such unfair practices of shunning women devoid of children, property or husbands. Why, it is criminal, I say!"

_Well, you go old girl!_

I was surprised to hear her speak so strongly on the matter of her century's sexual caste system. "Madame Roux, I could not agree with you more. It is most unfortunate that a woman cannot be allowed to care for herself. If it were not for the generosity of our Monsieur Dupuis, I may well be living in the alleys of Paris, fighting the dogs for scraps to eat."

I turned to Erik and smiled brightly, "Monsieur, I shall never be able to show my gratitude enough for allowing me an occupation and a roof over my head here at the manor. I do not know how I can ever repay you, Monsieur."

Erik just sort of looked at me, struggling to appear non-pulsed. I was being a booger and he knew it. He actually brushed his leg against mine underneath of the table. I had to stifle a giggle that threatened to burst forth from my mouth.

"Monsieur Mangeot was in need of a favor and I was in need of a cook. It has worked out to all of our advantages, wouldn't you agree Madame?"

Again, I averted my eyes like a proper servant, "Oui, Monsieur DuPuis, you are a most benevolent man. Well then," I perked up, making an attempt at redirecting conversation, "It appears you are all finished with the main course. I have baked a fallen chocolate soufflé with fresh cream for dessert—is anyone interested in partaking of it?"

No one turned down my offer. I excused myself to the kitchen to fetch the soufflé and cream, returning with the warm soufflé and two pitchers of clotted cream on a tray. I moved around the table, scooping servings of the decadent dark chocolate desert onto the plates and placed two creams on the table before re-seating myself next to Erik.

Taking a bite of the soufflé, I had a flash of another way to enjoy it. I made eye contact with Erik while slowly sliding the bit of chocolate from my spoon. "Smells divine dear," remarked Madame Roux. "It is, believe me," I said enthusiastically.

"Our Gabrielle is quite the chef superbe," complimented her husband.

I shrugged, "You are too kind; it's simply a hobby I picked up from my father. He enjoyed culinary pursuits as much as he did his science. He spent most of his time seeking to prove the theory of time travel."

_I had to give my father a background, why not his true profession? It's not as if anyone in the 19th century would have heard of him. As far as the world was concerned, Thomassen had passed away several years ago._

"Time travel, eh? Did your father make much headway with his theories?" the Daroga inquired.

I shook my head, "Sadly no, he had many fine theories, but he never had the opportunity to prove any of them before he passed away. But he has many contemporaries who have taken up his baton of research."

"Do you subscribe to your father's vision, Madame Gabrielle?"

"Because something has yet to be proved, does not mean that it cannot be so, Monsieur."

"True words," Erik interjected. "Look at me, Daroga. Would you have ever thought I could become a respectable member of French society?" Erik joked dryly.

"Right before my eyes, the miracle of miracles!" teased the Daroga at Erik's expense.

"And how is your London project coming along?" 

I sensed that Erik was glad to have the subject swing in a different direction.

"We have completed the first phase of the foundation. I calculate it will take the masons another six months to complete the other phases before we can begin work on the structure, providing no unforeseen problems arise. Monsieur Mangeot does not press the workers to expedite the work as I would, were I on site. I suffer the aggravation so I do not have to spend endless days among the tiresome British. Besides, I have much to attend to here at the manor," Erik explained.

The Daroga took a sip of his wine and gestured toward Erik, "What do you have here that is so pressing as to keep you from overseeing the London project?"

Naturally, everyone at the table was looking at Erik, waiting for his reply. He took a bite of his dessert, and chewed slowly making the Daroga wait for his answer. He stole a quick glance at me before answering, "My...compositions, of course, Daroga. The Lyric Theatre is expecting to have the score of a new opera in ample time for next season. It must be finished and in the director's hands no later than June," he said, as if this were common knowledge.

The Daroga nodded in acceptance of Erik's words and continued, "I certainly hope those fellows are paying you handsomely for your talents, Erik. They should realize what a master they have commissioned to provide entertainment for their wealthy patrons."

"So my friend, you now wish to oversee my financial affairs do you? Dear Daroga, I can assure you that I do not dole out my time for a mere pittance."

I reached over and touched Erik's arm briefly, "And you shouldn't either, Erik. You are the most innovative composer of the 19th century." Once again I felt all eyes on me. Erik flashed me an odd look.

"Is that so?" laughed Monsieur Roux. "Perhaps Madame Gabrielle is clairvoyant. You seem to possess knowledge that the rest of us are not privy to, dear."

Erik smiled at me and spoke evenly, "I am sure Madame meant to say _will be_. Gabrielle and I share a considerable love of music; she has come to be my most ardent advocate."

_Oh no, foot in mouth again, I cringed inwardly. _

Yes, of course, I meant to say _will._ Forgive me, Erik, sometimes the mind and the mouth do not agree."

My attempt to laugh off the slip drew polite laughter from everyone. Once again, I was off the hook.

After supper, Erik and Nadir retired to the library for cognac and talk. I knew the men would want time alone to catch up with one another, so I remained in the kitchen area to clean up from our meal. Once all of the dishes had been washed and set out to dry, I began returning my spices and other condiments to the pantry. It was there that I realized I could hear every word of conversation being spoken from the library on the other side of the pantry.

- O -

_**Eavesdropping? Well, what's a girl to do? An interesting discussion with Erik and the Daroga is on the way. Please, please review. More chapters to come soon – Leesa**_


	30. Chapter 30

Dear readers,

I am sorry; chapter 30 is not uploading to the Fan-Fiction site properly. I've never had this problem before, so as soon as I rectify it with the site, I will re-send you the newest update from _Time the Avenger_.

Thank you so very much for reading my story. —Leesa


	31. Ch 31 Proposing a Proposal

_**Thank you **for your reviews and a big thank you for my beta Amy. She keeps me right. This is a long chapter, so buckle up – Leesainthesky _

**Re-cap: Gabrielle discovers that the kitchen pantry is the perfect place to eavesdrop on Erik and Nadir khan who are having an interesting conversation in the library… **

**Ch 30 Proposing a Proposal **

How could eavesdropping be a crime in a household where there were many secrets?

Being able to hear every word spoken by whoever was in the library could only be a plus.

I suppose I'd never noticed it before because Erik was usually alone in the library.

At first Erik and the Daroga conversed in Farsi, Nadir's native tongue, so I hadn't a clue as to what was being said. Then Erik requested that they continue in French.

"No offense, my good friend, but can we revert to my native language? Yours conjures unwelcome memories for me."

"And for that I am deeply grieved Monsieur. Suppose Madame Gabrielle should hear us? Would that not be risky?"

"Gabrielle is not prone to eavesdropping Daroga, besides; she'll be busy in the kitchen for a good while. I am certain we are safe," Erik retorted.

"I trust your judgment, friend. Alright then, the language of kings it is," agreed the Persian.

Erik was correct; I was not prone to eavesdropping. Even when I worked in a newsroom where everyone was a rabid gossipmonger, I purposely avoided hearing anything that could place me in a compromising position or upset me in some way, but this sudden discovery of being able to hear Erik converse with an old friend was just too tempting for even the most honorable woman.

I justified the act further by reminding myself of Erik's foray into my journal a few months back.

There was also a miniscule crack in the pine knots of the pantry wall were I could barley discern the back of Erik's head and the Daroga's face.

"I was not being polite when I complimented Madame Gabrielle's culinary prowess. She was most considerate to prepare dishes from my culture. That was one of the most delicious meals I have eaten in years. Not only does she cook well, but she is clever, intelligent and easy on one's eyes. Wherever did you find her?" the Daroga questioned Erik.

"I have told you, Daroga. Gabrielle is the niece-in-law of my architectural partner in London, Monsieur Mangeot. She had no one to take her in after her husband in the Americas perished from influenza, so I am helping her get back on solid ground. She does well here and I have told her she may remain at my manor as long as she desires too," Erik said matter-of-factly.

"As long as _she_ desires, my friend? From my observations, the two of you carry on with the ease of a happily married couple. Erik, tell me you have not indulged in any of your trickery to convince her to stay on, have you?" the Persian asked suspiciously.

I winced when Erik slammed his brandy snifter down on the marble table, expecting to hear shattering crystal.

"Damn it Daroga, have you so little trust in me that you must always believe the worst? I gave up those methods of persuasion you call trickery after I left the opera house. Those days are behind me and you know it!"

"Please, my dear friend, do calm yourself. I feel it is my duty to ask such a question. You forget I know you too well, Erik. I wonder why a handsome young woman such as Madame Gabrielle is not seeking a new husband, unless of course, she has already found a suitable benefactor."

_Say what? I wasn't sure I was partial to the Persian man's insinuation._

"A suitable benefactor, Monsieur?" Erik sounded irritated. "Gabrielle has not used her feminine charms to manipulate me into being her benefactor if that is what you are suggesting. We get on well, and as you know, that is not something I am prone to do with many of God's people."

"I intended no offense, friend. In my numerous years as a police Chief and detective, I have learned to read the subtleties of others well. Erik, it is my astute observation that Madame Gabrielle fancies you a great deal. As for you, there is a new fire burning in your eyes."

The sounds of silence—I could see the Daroga through the teeny crack in the pantry wall. He sat crossed legged on the black leather sofa; smoke from his pipe curled around his weathered, swarthy face. His dark eyebrows were lifted at the man sitting across from him.

"The master of illusion, the trap door lover, at this very moment he is not able to conceal that he has a secret. You have become soft my macabre friend. Do you wish to divulge what it is you are holding on to?"

Erik swished the fine cognac around in its crystal bowl. I imagined him nonchalantly gazing into the amber liquid, contemplating whether or not he would dignify his friend with a straightforward answer, or lead him on an elusive word chase. Erik wasn't fond of being put on the spot.

"Gabrielle, she is a different sort of woman, Daroga. Like none other I have ever witnessed. Do you know she can play the Spanish guitar, is proficient with a hammer and nail, rides like a man and could serve as a chef in any of the finest restaurants in all of France?"

"All admirable traits, indeed my friend, but my instincts tell me it is not her culinary skills or deftness with a hammer that captivate you so."

Erik snickered sardonically, "From you, Daroga, I can hide nothing."

"Then what is it, friend? Does Madame Gabrielle know of your interest? Are you infatuated with her?"

"You will be amused to know that Madame Gabrielle claims to be in love with _me_."

The Daroga uncrossed his legs and re-lit his pipe. He leaned back into the leather sofa, and enjoyed a few puffs while reflecting on Erik's words.

"She said this to you, Eh? That she loves you."

"Is that so had to believe, that a woman could love me for me Daroga? Am I still so much of a monster that I could never reap the benefits of amour? Have you forgotten that a man exists beneath my atrocity?" Erik said evenly.

"No, no my friend, you misunderstand. But love has escaped you all your life Erik— we both know why, we both know it is unfair. Has Madame Gabrielle…"

"Seen my face? Why, yes, she has. And do you know what she did Daroga? Nothing, yes, you heard me, nothing. She did not scream, she did not retch or run, she did not even flinch or frown. Gabrielle merely looked me in the eye, smiled and kissed me. She kissed me my friend, on my lips and on my disfigured face."

"Have you bedded her yet?"

"My dear Daroga, such an indiscrete inquiry; where women are concerned, I am mostly a gentleman."

"I meant no disrespect to Madame Gabrielle, Monsieur. It would only be natural for two people in such close proximity to couple. Frankly, I hope you have experienced the carnal delights of a woman's body. May I remind you, Erik, in the years we have co-existed in our strange relationship; we have concealed few facts from the other."

"Of course, Daroga, and yes, Gabrielle and I, we have been— intimate, but we have yet to consummate our relationship. I respect her too much to insist on her virtue at this juncture in our romance."

"Most admirable of you, Monsieur, but at last, you have tasted the joys of the flesh, no? Are they all your dreams have promised?" inquired the Daroga.

"More. Ma Petite Belle is not an immoral woman, but she knows how to pleasure me in ways I never imagined in all my darkest fantasies."

_Well, there's a point for my team. One always wonders what a man thinks of you when it comes to the delicate subject of extracurricular relations._

The Daroga chuckled, "You are a fortunate man, then. The Shah's harem of virgins could perform the most amazing acts on one by use of only their hands and mouths— things one could never forget," His voiced was tinged with lust as he reminisced.

Erik laughed as though at a joke, "I believe my Gabrielle could rival those well trained concubines. And here she says she _loves_ me too. Can you fathom such a thing Daroga?"

The Persian sable eyes considered Erik seriously. He pointed the bowl of his pipe in Erik's direction, "Love is always possible when the right person falls into your life, my friend. Do you love _her_?"

_Oh God, maybe I should plug my ears for this one,_ I thought.

"Gabrielle is a brilliant, intoxicating, and maddeningly independent woman. She is also kind and tender. She means the world to me, Daroga, but do I love her? As you well know, I once loved a woman fiercely. She loved only my voice. Had my face not been revealed to her early on, perchance she could have returned my love. Then there was that meddling boy…"

"…You elude my question," the Daroga interrupted.

"I cannot afford to love her."

"Ridiculous!"

"You know so little, Daroga," Erik fairly snarled.

"Then tell me, dear old friend, what it is I do not know."

Erik stood and walked over to the large mahogany desk. He opened a drawer, fumbled around and drew out a Figaro news clipping taped to a square of cardboard. Erik thrust the article into the Daroga's hands and tapped on it, "This event transpired nearly ten months ago. Some say Monsieur Fentz was murdered; others claimed he had run off with a mistress. No corpse, mistress, or motive was found.

Others believed the Frenchman was abducted by aliens, and then there was speculation that he had been swallowed up in a time warp. Gabrielle appeared at precisely the same moment Monsieur Fentz disappeared.

The Daroga's eyes expressed confusion, "Are you inferring that Madame Gabrielle's appearance and this man's disappearance are related?"

"I know with certainty they are related. She and Monsieur Fentz traded places in time. No, do not look at me so; I was searching for pages from one of my precious original scores in the bowels of the opera house when I came across her. She was lying on the ground of my former lair, scratched, bruised and most confused. Gabrielle wore very strange clothing and carried with her accouterments that were stranger still."

_He wouldn't dare, my mind screamed. No Erik, do not do this to me!_

"What I have always feared has finally occurred, you have finally gone completely crackers, Monsieur," said the Daroga.

"Listen to me. I was prepared to throw her out on the streets of Paris until she convinced me that she was indeed from the year 2005. Daroga, I tell you the truth. The woman is a reporter for something she calls television. She presented me with the most amazing instruments, the like of which I have never witnessed. Wait, here I will show you."

Erik stood and strode from the room swiftly.

_Uh–oh, I'd better skedaddle_, I thought, He was probably looking for me. I busied myself by pretending to scrub the previously cleaned countertops.

Within a half a moment, Erik was at the entrance looking at me. "Still cleaning up are you? Gabrielle, there is no need to work so late into the evening. Put the broom away and come here," Erik requested with a warm smile.

How could I resist that voice and those eyes? I obeyed and went to him.

Erik embraced me, kissed my forehead, and looked into my eyes, "Gabrielle, darling, there are few human beings I trust. There is Madame Giry, the Daroga and now you. Monsieur Khan knows more about my life's motives and sins, than all of you combined. He has been my father confessor since early adulthood."

I stared into his jade eyes, "Its cathartic to have someone trustworthy to unload your secrets on isn't it?"

"Somewhat—and that is my point, darling. I need for the Daroga to know of us, of you and your secret. Because of the man's considerable powers of discernment, he may be able to help you assimilate yourself into this century with wisdom and insight. Two heads are often better than one, as the saying goes."

"Nooo, Erik," I looked at my feet and shook my head vehemently, "No, please don't ask me to do what I think you're asking. Don't tell your friend that I'm here because I took a vacation from 2005. He'll think we're both daft as ducks."

Erik placed an index finger under my chin and drew my head back up to face him. "Listen to me, Gabrielle. Do you honestly believe I would put either one of us in harm's way? I know this man, I trust this man. He will believe. But you must convince him as you did with me. Present the Daroga with your computer and your camera. Tell him of things that will happen next week or next month. I insist you do this for your own good."

I stared at him wide eyed with fear, "What if he tells someone, Erik? What then? Will the story get out, causing the authorities or crazed scientists to hunt me?"

"I would kill anyone who dared harm a hair on your pretty head. And anyway, the Daroga will not tell a soul. Of this I am certain," he soothed. "Come, your computer and camera are still locket up in my desk. I hope the battery supply is still good."

Erik took my hand and squeezed it reassuringly, the led me to the library. I felt as though I were going to meet the firing squad. Adrenaline was coursing though my body, making my hands clammy.

Erik ushered me into the library and gestured for me to sit next to him. I chose to sit at the hearth. The fire's warmth might lend me some courage. He went over to his desk and unlocked a hidden compartment on the inside of one of the large drawers.

Erik drew out my laptop and IPOD and a few of the personal identifications I had on me when I tumbled into 1876, then returned to his leather armchair and set the items on the table between him and the Daroga.

Nadir Khan reclined on the couch, leisurely sipping his cognac. He appeared ever so slightly amused. At the moment, I felt incredibly suspect. No one spoke for a good two minutes.

Finally, the Persian broke the ice, "Gabrielle, Erik tells me that you have come to us via time travel from the 21st century. Has our dark friend's mind finally turned on him or could there be merit to his revelation?"

I stood, shaking out my skirts then clasped my hands in front of me and approached the man with what I hoped to be the most sober of expressions painted on my face, "Monsieur Khan, forgive me if what I say seems far-fetched, but what Erik says is true. I lived in Chicago, Illinois, in America. The date was June 2005 when I walked out of a theatre in New York City and came upon a man dressed in 19th century garb, so petrified that he backed into traffic and was run over by an automobile, a motorized carriage you could say. I then blacked out, and then the next thing I knew, I was on my knees scraped and bleeding in the fifth basement of the Paris Opera house."

I paused to grab Erik's cognac from the table behind me and took a sizable gulp.

"Erik discovered me, took pity on me and now I am here. Does it all seem inconceivable? Well, I tell you it is no lie. My father was or is a physicist teetering on the edge of proving how quantum physics and time travel mesh to provide a series of black holes and tears in the fabric of the universe. These time tears could be all around us, but you would never realize it unless you slipped through one—an improbable event, but if one were to occur in say, 1876, and another at the same instant in 2005, anyone near enough to the breach may find themselves trading time periods."

_Phew, I was exhausted and I knew this was just the beginning of my performance._

"Having grown up in Persia, I have witnessed many mystical occurrences. I am not a scientist, however as I see it, science has yet to devise an acceptable theory that explains and allows for time travel. Any explanation for mysterious events caused by so called future experiments must be invalid," said the Daroga.

"Here," I bent down and picked the laptop from the table and moved to the sofa to sit next to Nadir.

"This, monsieur, is what is called a portable computer. There is a miniscule chip inside of it that stores millions of pieces of information. You can type anything you want, create stationary, calling cards, compose music and, if this is attached to a telephone line, can access what a world wide web of information storehouses and contact others who have one of these. That is called the Internet. In this century the telegraph is widely used to send messages. In the next hundred years the world will morph into a technological fantasyland. My profession was as an entertainer of sorts—what's called a television personality; I interviewed people of note and reviewed the performing arts and other means of entertainment."

I made a brave attempt to explain television and radio waves, and satellites. The Persian listened politely, but was not impressed until I powered up the little computer and put it in his lap. I brought up a basic midi music composition program, a word processing program and video of my last Chicago Tonight.

"Batteries are what this runs on, obviously not like the ones of today, but small, long lasting cells. I try to keep Erik from using this and an instrument that holds thousands of songs; I want the technology to last as long as possible. It is my only link to my original life, Monsieur."

Nadir considered the laptop with wonder, hunting and pecking the keys, attempting to make it function for him. I instructed him on a few of the shortcuts he could use to compose a letter. I explained that a printer was needed to produce the actual document.

"This is a most exciting machine, the likes of which I have never seen. Why, think of how quickly you could put down your compositions Erik," He enthused.

"Here Nadir, allow me to introduce you to Gabrielle Thomassen, 2005," I inserted the disc of Chicago Tonight and set opened the file. There I was, in living walking, talking color. I was wearing a skimpy BoHo style shirt, a short skirt and boots. I was setting up the Brittany spears piece. I was kind to the man and spared him her performance. My producer had set me up in front of the venue where she was performing. Automobiles, busses, and crowds of people walking by were in the background. Funny, but I had been in the 19th century so long, I felt as if I were looking at the future, but then, I suppose I was.

"Madame Gabrielle, is that truly you? How ever could a body walk around like that on the streets? Didn't your husband mind terribly?" asked the Persian.

"Nadir," I addressed him soberly, "life in 2005 is much more relaxed than it is today. People don't bundle themselves up in layers of clothing and pomp and circumstance, although sometime I think we could use a smidgeon of it. Women enjoy many freedoms not accessible in this century. And by the way, I've never been married." I could hear him thinking _oh my_!

"I see; then it is all a ruse to allow you to live here without seeming improper to the likes of the Roux's and anyone else who may question your arrangement here in the company of the Lord of the Manor?"

"Precisely," added Erik.

"Are you not lonely?" Nadir continued.

"Of course Monsieur, the adjustment to your society has been…challenging, to say the least. But I'm managing, with Erik's gracious assistance," I said, tilting my head in Erik's direction and smiling warmly.

Erik returned the sentiment with his eyes. He turned toward the Daroga again, and instructed me to introduce him to my music machine.

"Nadir, I am going to place this on your head, they're called headphones. You can hear music in them from this little personal device I have in my hand. There are thousands of musical selections stored in it. To convince you that I am from a new age, I will allow some of the modern selections to play and then there is a rendering of one of Erik's yet to be published opera's in here too."

I adjusted the earphones on his head and turned on the device. Nadir's expression suddenly took on the look of a child who has discovered the most magnificent of chimeras.

"…Such fascinating and noisome sounds of which I have never heard," he exclaimed!

I switched to the section where the rendering of Erik's opera, la femme du nord,

without telling him what he would be listening to.

"Astounding!" he cried, why this, this must be one of Erik's aria's. There can be no equal to his virtuosity. And it is here, in this, this instrument? Oh my, there is much my mind can fathom Madame, but these mechanisms you have produced for me are above and beyond anything I could imagine. If Erik accepts that all I have witnessed tonight is indeed hales from the future, then I too, can be persuaded to believe your fantastic tale. That is unless Erik, you have concocted an elaborate ruse at my expense."

Erik sat in his chair with his arms crossed, glaring, "Why should I deceive you dear friend? Yes, I have inconvenienced you with many of my tricks from time to time, but that was when you were meddling into my affairs at the opera house. I was a madman then. I assure you Nadir, that I am now most boringly sane."

I leaned toward the Daroga and smiled, "Nadir, what I said at supper was not a slip of the tongue, and Erik _will_ become one of history's most innovative composers. He will have other personal successes too, although I am not at liberty to say. There is a code of ethics among time travelers dictating that the course of history not be altered, at least in important matters such as birth or death. No one knows to what degree such actions could damage the balance of the universe."

Nadir rubbed his chin and gazed at me with amazement, "Of all the people in Paris, it was Erik, who found you, Gabrielle. But then who better than to take a wayward under his wing? Tell me Erik, have you two devised a plan to rule the world yet?"

"Heavens no, too much trouble," Erik retorted.

The men dragged me into a two-hour long discussion of what some of the world's new technological advances would be in the coming century.

I told them that around Christmas of this year, an American by the name of Thomas Edison will file for the patent of a device called the phonograph. The machine will play music recorded onto a cylinder.

"It can be used for recording virtually anything you like. It is ancient precursor to the technology used in my IPOD technology," I informed the men.

Nadir was interested in criminology advances and when I told him of the CSI advances, I thought he was going to have a sexual encounter with himself on Erik's sofa.

Finally, at around two thirty in the morning, I begged for an escape. "Gentlemen, please excuse me. As much as I have enjoyed the evening, I am bushed. I have got to go to sleep. If you like, we can resume our discussion tomorrow, Nadir."

"My pleasure, Mademoiselle, or is it Madame?"

"For all concerned, it's best to refer to me as Madame."

"Then I bid you a Good evening, Madame Gabrielle."

"Yes dear, pleasant dreams," Erik offered. I gave the men a brief curtsey, and headed for my bedroom.

Oh pooh, I forgot to ask what time I should serve breakfast in the morning. I was a mere step from the library when I heard something that caused me to stop cold.

"She is magnificent, Erik. Why don't you propose to the woman?"

**- O - **

**_This will be finished and it will have a positive ending. Now, I implore you; please take a moment of your time to review this chapter. Thank you all, I can't list names, but I wish I could because many of the reviews are very insightful, some are just plain amusing and I love them all! Again, thank you for reading and reviewing – Leesa _**


	32. Ch 32 Daroga Wisdom

_**Re-cap: Gabrielle is eavesdropping on Erik and Nadir Khan when she hears Nadir suggest that Erik propose to Gabrielle…**_

Ch 32 Daroga Wisdom 

"_Mon dieu_!" I whispered in French. The Daroga had advised Erik to offer me a proposal of marriage. Was his goal to push Erik away from me? Monsieur DuPuis was not the sort of man who could be pressed into decisions of any sort.

As covertly as possible, I flattened myself against the wall next to one of the libraries large oak pocket doors and listened to Erik and the Daroga exchange increasingly heated words.

"A proposal, Daroga? Surely you are being droll," I could hear the chaffing tone in Erik's voice.

"Droll, at your expense? I am a wiser man than that, friend," the Daroga countered.

"Clearly, Gabrielle cares for you—why, you said so yourself, Erik. Is it your wish to spend the remaining years of your life alone?"

"Why do you suggest such an unattainable goal to me when you know better? It has been only these past six years that I have lived a feeble version of other Parisians' lives. I know nothing of how a husband should conduct himself. Tell me, Daroga, what bride would wish to live with an ugly recluse?"

"Stop pitying yourself. It is useless and beneath your dignity, Monsieur. If Mademoiselle Gabrielle were repulsed by you, do you think she would allow you to take liberties with her?"

No one spoke. Finally I heard Erik issue a loud, exasperated sigh.

"Gabrielle is a kind and loyal woman, Daroga. I would imagine she too is lonely," Erik reasoned.

_Oh gee thanks, Erik. You think I'm so lonely I'll lick the first candy cane that comes my way? _

I was highly pissed off.

"Loneliness is not enough for a gentlewoman of any era to tell a grumpy old bachelor she loves him."

"Grumpy indeed," Erik harrumphed. "I did not invite you here for insults. Besides, the woman may well disappear back into her century as easily as she came to be in ours—that, I could not bear."

"Erik, Gabrielle told us this very night of the minute probability one has of traveling through time. She has done it once; there is little hope she will do it again. It is my deduction that she is here to stay. You needn't trouble yourself about the little Mademoiselle leaving the 19th century."

"Daroga, you of all people know how dangerous it is to tempt me with thoughts of what is forbidden to me."

"Bi-hosh," he exclaimed in Farsi, "Erik, before you is the chance to have what you have always craved…"

"Our conversation on this matter is over, _fini, _Monsieur."

The Persian ignored him and pressed on, "The woman would make for a fine companion; she loves you, she is dedicated to serving you. Erik, I did not save your French skin in Persia only to see you continually make foolish choices. Please listen…"

"Daroga," Erik growled, "I warn you, do not press me!"

"All right, I shan't, but you must promise to take earnest consideration of my words. Do not let this slip away from you, Erik."

"Ha," Erik laughed bitterly. "You forget about my unfortunate luck with Christine. Did I not propose to her? Remember how well that little incident turned out? Why, I nearly achieved the destruction of everything and everyone around me—including myself!"

"Christine did not love you. She was a naive young girl who knew nothing of the world or of men. Besides, kidnapping and blackmail is not a proposal. You frightened her with your obsession; you know that you did, Erik!"

The Daroga was pounding his fist on the table in front of him. I could only imagine what sparks flew in that limited space between the two men.

"Yes, yes, Nadir! You make your point for me. I, Erik, am a beast, a lunatic, an atrocious monster deserving nothing that is lovely. God has blessed me with limitless talents and intellect and for this he has denied me love. Do you not see this?"

"Allah does not withhold love from anyone; it is _you_ who refuses it."

"No more! We will speak of this no more, do you hear me?" Erik suddenly roared.

"No more, Monsieur," the Persian promised calmly. "Just do not tarry too long, lest you lose this chance with her."

_Time for Ms. Gabrielle to exit, stage left, quietly too—_ _Erik's senses are so acute he could hear the fennel growing in my herb garden. _

I crept up the stairs to the comfort of my lovely Victorian bedroom. Crying into my lace pillows felt like a grand idea. After stripping off my clothes, I threw my body on top of the bedcovers and began a pitiful bout of weeping.

I cried for Erik's misgivings as much as for my inability to reach his heart. Or was it his head that needed to be cracked, so to speak? And that bit about not returning to 2005. Why hadn't I thought of that myself? Maybe I had. There's not much hope joy in admitting that your entire life must be wiped out and begun again at the ripe old age of 29. Despair wrapped its long gloomy fingers around me, drawing me into a restless sleep.

The alarm trilled sharply at 6:30. Thank the Lord I'd had the foresight to set it early last night before I indulged in my shameless crying jag. I'd forgotten to ask Erik what time breakfast was to be served. After last evening's enlightening discussion in the library, it would have been slightly awkward for me to approach him in front of Nadir.

_Up and at 'em, Gabrielle; wash your face, comb your hair and dress your body. Chop, chop,_ I ordered my weary bones.

One look in the mirror hanging over the washbasin, and I decided I should have been the one people screamed and ran from. A night of crying does nothing for a girl's complexion. There were bags beneath my eyes the size of Australia.

_Gads, I hope I still have some eye cream left in my old make-up bad._

After some minor cosmetic surgery and a trip to the water closet, I headed down to the kitchen to begin breakfast.

The Daroga likes his Turkish tea, which Erik will also drink. The Roux's must have their coffee—I had to concur with them on that point. After getting the hot water ready for the teapot and press pot, I began turning out dough for almond scones. Throw in some fresh fruit and poached eggs and viola, a suitable meal. In France, big Texas sized breakfasts weren't popular. This, I'm sure, was another reason the French didn't suffer from the same health problems as we Yanks do.

All but the eggs were ready. I wouldn't fix those until everyone was seated so they would be warm. I took this opportunity of quiet to sit at the little oak kitchen table, peer out at Erik's spring garden and sip my coffee.

Warm lips pressed a kiss on my neck; fracturing whatever inane daydream I was into. Erik had walked soundlessly into the kitchen. He wore only a nightshirt and one of his silk robes.

The chills running down my spine were not chills of delight, but of melancholy, the sort that flows over you when you yearn for something you know you cannot have.

I wanted Erik desperately and I desperately wanted him to love me. Hell, I was just desperate, and I hated that.

"Good morning, my darling," Erik said brightly.

_At least he still liked me. After last night's heart to heart with his Persian pal, I had expected Erik to withdraw from me. That was his normal modus operandi whenever anyone touched a nerve in his psyche._

"Good morning to you, Monsieur DuPuis," I answered peering into his brilliant jade eyes. "Being a bit laid back today aren't we?" I said, indicating his mode of dress.

"Laid back—yes, relaxed is what you mean isn't it? I'm not indecent am I?" he smiled.

I grabbed the lapels of his silken robe and pulled him in for a kiss.

"Will you be changing before the meal is served? Not that I care, but I know how you people from the 19th century get all worked up over wardrobe impropriety."

"Momentarily dear, I wanted to see what you were about first. I could hear the banging of pans clear up in my bedroom. No doubt most of France is now awake," his voice was smooth and honeyed. As Erik spoke, he dusted the tips of his fingers over the swell of my breast.

I swatted him away, "Stop it, someone will see you, you horny toad!"

"Then shall we retire for a nap after Monsieur Khan departs this afternoon? Certainly my bedroom is a discrete enough location for you, Gabrielle."

"Wipe the smirk from your face and go change. The Roux's are probably up and dressed by now. What time does Monsieur Khan normally rise?"

"With the birds most days—the work ethic of the _homme de loi _I suppose, but then we were burning the midnight oil well into the wee hours."

"Pontificating the very meaning of life?" I goaded.

Erik grimaced slightly and squinted at me, "Ah, yes…something like that." He poured a cup of tea and stirred two teaspoons of sugar into the inky liquid. He rinsed the spoon and placed it back in the basket.

"I'm off to change—to please the lady, and fetch Monsieur Khan," he said.

One half an hour passed before the entire household, consisting of the Roux's, Monsieur Khan and Erik, were seated at the table for breakfast.

Breakfast conversation was pleasant in spite of being somewhat stilted. Erik discussed his plans for our trip to London so I could get out of the manor and procure new clothing for the season.

Everyone at the table knew why we planned to patronize shops in London rather than Paris, the couture capital of the world. Erik was still uncomfortable walking around the city in the daylight hours. Six years had passed since the incident on the stage of the Opera Garnier. No one had gotten a good look at him or ever seen his mask that night, save a few confidantes, those no longer living in the city, or the dead. Still, it was difficult for a man with Erik's past not to feel hunted.

There was much banal chatting about Nadir's plans to visit the Mediterranean coast for summer holiday, Erik's latest opera, and how the Roux's children were faring.

Caron had written from London. She was looking forward to seeing her parents next month. The Roux's planned to take a three week leave of their duties at DuPuis Manor for a visit with their only daughter. Caron expressed regret that my trip to London would coincide with her trip to stay with her husband's two old-maid aunts for some countryside relaxation.

She was still husband-less and missing her Navy man very much, but held hopes for seeing him by Christmas of this year. Caron added that she would never, ever forget our most excellent adventure, as I had called it, and would always cherish our friendship even if it were primarily via post. Reflecting on our mischievous evening in Paris still made me smile.

Monsieur Khan left for Paris that afternoon, but before departing, he took the liberty of pulling me aside while I was washing the breakfast dishes to pick my brain concerning his old friend.

"Getting to know you more thoroughly was a delight, Gabrielle. I am certain we shall cross paths again. Concerning Erik, do be patient with him. He has been through more hell than Dante himself. Erik does not yet know, or more precisely, does not yet admit, that he does love you— stubborn man."

I stood at the sink drying a dish and shot him a sideways glance, "Erik loves me? You are mistaken Monsieur Khan; Erik does not allow such frivolous emotions to complicate his life. That Christine wench did a number on him, you know."

The Persian continued to address me compassionately, "You are wise beyond your years, because your years are many, Gabrielle. Think of the uncountable miles you must have traveled to live among us in our century. Do you not believe Allah knows what he is doing? Love is for all creatures, even our poor Erik. If it takes the compassion of a fair Mademoiselle from 2005 to tame Monsieur Le Fantôme and offer him what all men require, then so be it! Call it fate or call it divinity, it is the Lord's way of avenging Erik's misfortunes through the miracle of time."

With this last statement, Nadir touched his index finger to his temple knowingly then pointed it at me, "Farewell Mademoiselle Thomassen. The next time we meet, your fate in this century will be permanently sealed."

The wooden bowl I had been drying slipped from my hand and rolled to the floor. Unable to articulate a word, I could only gawk at him as the Persian man strode from the kitchen.

_To coin a term form the 19th century_, Merde-sainte! _Whatever could the Daroga have meant by permanently sealed? How so? How could he know my fate?_

**- O -**

_homme de loi: man of the law_

_Merde-sainte: holy $hit_

_Bi-hosh: you're mad or deranged_

**_Maddening eh? Erik's unwillingness or inability to accept the love of another, coupled with Gabrielle's sadness at not being able to reach his heart, then there's that wise old Persian… Please review me on this chapter and thank you so very much for hanging with me so far. — Leesa_**


	33. Ch 33 London Calling

_Yo! I hope you are all enjoying fall. Here is another chapter, freshly edited by my beta, the fabulous Amy._

**Re-cap: Gabrielle and Erik finally make it to London for some shopping…**

Ch 33 London Calling 

The only thing not to like about Victorian London, besides the poverty, disease, and constant rain, was the city's authoritarian morality. Once past these shortcomings, one could enjoy the rich feast of culture and history that made London unlike any other city in the world.

Henri chauffeured Erik and me to the Gare St. Lazare train station. Peering from the window of the carriage, I noticed a heavily bearded man seated in front of the station's glass, stone and steel structure. He had with him an easel and appeared to be painting a rendering of the train station. From somewhere deep inside my memory, a piece of information shot up; 1877 was the year Claude Monet had chosen the newly refurbished Gare Sr. Lazare station as a subject for one of his most famous paintings. Again, I found myself in awe at the privilege of seeing history in the making.

We caught the 9:15 a.m. train to Dieppe then crossed the English Channel by ferry to Brighton; from there we traveled by train to London. The process took an entire day and one night. Eventually our train pulled into Victoria station at 5:12 p.m. Here weary travelers were met by many cabbies waiting to pick up fares. The chap who was to take us to our hotel was in his twenties, with a horse who, unlike the horrific stories in my favorite children's book, Black Beauty, appeared to be well fed and well groomed. The cabbie was polite to us, and glanced only momentarily at Erik's mask before gaining a civil composure and asking us for our destination.

While the carriage rolled along the cobblestone streets of the capitol city, that odd feeling of being a character in my own gothic movie returned. Victorian London ebbed and flowed in the misty gray with her smoking chimneys, carriages, and street sellers. Scores of women and men dashed about wearing elaborate hats and dark high-necked attire. Any minute I expected to spy Mary Poppins floating downward with her trademark umbrella.

I snuggled up to Erik on the bench seat. "This is exciting for me! I was here five years ago, in 2000—oh, that sounds so odd doesn't it?" I giggled, "You know what I mean. My, so much has changed, except for the buildings; many of the same structures are still standing in the 21st century."

Erik gave me a slight smile and wrapped his arms around me, giving me a kiss on my cheek. "You sweet thing, it is good to see you enthusiastic about any part of my world. But you know darling," he said as he tipped my chin toward him, "public displays of affection are frowned upon in Victoria's London. Though they do expect the French to be somewhat vulgar, the most I will do is hold your arm while I guide you through the busy streets," he informed me.

"Got 'cha, no PDA's. I once read that the dour Queen Victoria expected her subjects to tow the moral line in public, yet she was quite the little minx behind closed palace doors. It's the ones you never suspect who are the most randy."

"Indeed," Erik chuckled.

"So, Monsieur, may I have a kiss for the road?"

"Can you not wait until we are properly ensconced behind our bedroom doors, Mademoiselle?"

"Oh hell no," I grabbed his chin with my lace gloved hand and drew his lips down to meet mine. Erik opened up his luscious lips and pressed his against me. We drank each other in like honeyed wine. I heard the cabbie say "whoa" his horse and felt the horse trot to a stop.

Reluctantly Erik and I ended our most splendid kiss. He smoothed tendrils of hair from my face, his eyes blazing into mine, "Until tonight, my dearest."

His inference thrilled me and I nipped playfully at his chin.

"Alright now, behave like a proper lady; we are in London now," he warned.

"Behave, but why? You're French remember, and I am a boorish American!' Misbehavior is expected of us."

"Gabrielle."

"I'm only joshing, Erik."

We were interrupted by the sound of the carriage door opening. The cabbie extended his hand for my departure. Erik followed, paid the man and waited for the doorman to extract our bags from the trunk.

"Ooh Erik, what a grand little place!" I exclaimed when I got a good look at the stylish Lincoln House Hotel. The Georgian style townhouse bore wide marble steps with a beautiful fanlight window over the entrance. A garden of flowers, plants and topiary strategically placed around the entrance and hanging from the balcony reflected Erik's taste for elegant beauty.

"I am please that you approve. The propriétaire d'hôtel is a dear friend of Monsieur Mangeot's. I often stay here if Eugene cannot accommodate me. As much as I adore his children, five of them can try my patience."

"No kidding," I had to agree.

Erik took my elbow in his hand and ushered me up the stairs and into the hotel lobby.

A soft yellow lamplight glowed from wall sconces and an ornate crystal fixture hung from the high ceiling. Behind a long marble desk stood a middle-aged man with blondish hair and round glasses; he looked in our direction when he heard us enter the lobby.

"A fine evening to you, Monsieur DuPuis. I have readied a suite in your name for the next two days," said the blonde man cordially when Erik approached what I assumed was the check-in desk.

"Very good, Monsieur Fitzgerald" Erik replied while he removed his leather gloves.

"It has been a long while since we have had the pleasure of your company. You are well I take it?"

"Never better, sir. The lady and I will be leaving on Friday. Eugene should have arranged for a suite for two days and two nights' stay at your lovely establishment."

The innkeeper smiled and nodded to Erik, "Our ever conscientious friend had taken care of your arrangements, Monsieur DuPuis. Please sign the register; here is your key my good man."

While Erik signed the register Monsieur Fitzgerald scrutinized me with polite curiosity. He smiled and let his gaze flit from me to Erik and then back again. I returned his attentions with a demure smile.

I hooked my arm in Erik's and said sweetly, "I am simply exhausted from our journey darling. Would you mind terribly if we could retire for a nap before supper?"

"Whatever you wish, dear," he answered stiffly. I stole a peek at Monsieur Fitzgerald's face; his expression was just what I had hoped for, one of surprise and envy.

If Erik had patronized the inn often, he had done so alone. I thought it good to have Erik's acquaintances see that he was a man to be desired by women.

With key in hand and a bellboy on our tails, we headed to our third floor suite.

The suite was roomy and clean, with handsome beige and white accents, a queen-sized bed and two armoires and a vanity table in the bedchamber. The parlor area consisted of a large desk for writing, two armchairs and a love seat. There was a closet sized room with a commode and washstand. I'd noted from a bronze plaque displayed inside the hotel's doors that it had been built in 1860; therefore the facility was new enough to have private plumbing. A large vase of yellow roses decorated the top of a large mirrored table. As a girl, I had pored over a book on flowers that explained what the color of roses meant, so that when I received my first ones from that special someone I would know his intentions. Yellow roses meant friendship, delight, and promise of a new beginning.

Their lush fragrance perfumed the air. I went to the vase to admire their scent, "These roses are gorgeous, Erik—is it a European tradition to place flowers in the rooms?"

"Not really, I simply thought you might enjoy their beauty. I know how you adore my summer rose garden," he answered nonchalantly.

"You are a most thoughtful man, Monsieur DuPuis." A suggestive smile touched my lips, "Come closer and allow me to thank you."

Erik stood still in the middle of the room and allowed me to wrap my arms around his middle. I held myself against his elegant form. Within seconds I felt his sex grow solid against my belly. An unplanned moan slipped from my throat when I pressed into him.

"Could you be eager for my attentions darling?" Erik purred seductively, while returning my embrace. We ended up in the bedchamber loving one another until the sun dropped low over the smoky rooftops of London.

Erik was up and fully dressed when I awoke. He sat on the loveseat in the parlor area reading some sort of newspaper.

"How long did I sleep?" I said.

Erik folded the paper neatly and smiled while allowing his eyes to roam over my chemise clad form. "Not too long, dear. But night has come and brought with her the essence of London in the spring—a light misting of rain."

I padded over to the window to check out the street below. "Ah yes, the last time I visited London, electric lights lent a false illumination to the night, but these gas lamps give a ghostly aura to it."

I turned back to Erik. "When is supper? I am hungry and in desperate need of a bath. Traveling has made me sticky."

"The travel and nothing more darling?" he smirked.

"Erik!" I grabbed a small pillow from one of the armchairs and threw it at him.

His long fingers snatched it from the air. "The water closet is at the end of the hall on the right; there you will find bath sheets. Do not tarry; we dine at 8:30."

"Not to worry, my hair doesn't need washing so I'll be quick, promise."

I retreated to the bedchamber to unpack my gown for the evening, grab some toiletries and throw my wrinkled day dress back on for the trek down the hall to the water closet.

The suite was deserted when I returned from my bath. "Hmm," I mused aloud, "Erik must have gone out for some necessary item_."_

I went into the bedchamber to complete my toilet for the evening. After drawing in the laces of my corset to the pass-out stage, I stuffed myself into a snug lavender taffeta gown, added a touch of make-up and swept my hair up in a lose chignon. I spritzed my neck with what remained of my favorite 21st century scent, and inspected my reflection in the vanity mirror

_I hope Monsieur DuPuis is pleased with what he sees._ This was to be our first official outing and I was both thrilled and nervous. The hallway door clicked open and closed.

_Erik's back,_ I thought,_ time to rock and roll_.

He stood by the writing desk with his back to me wearing his black cloak and hat. At the sound of my footsteps Erik turned around. Following a recent suggestion of mine, he had replaced his white mask with a less obvious flesh toned one.

As long as I lived I would never meet another man more dashingly regal than Erik. His impeccably elegant mode of dress, striking figure and brilliant jade eyes never ceased to take my breath away.

Erik swept his hand toward me and dipped his head in a gesture of gallantry, "You look stunning my dear."

_Was that a blush I felt warming my cheeks_? "Oh Erik, you just like the way this tight bodice makes a spectacle of my chest. I feel like a courtesan."

"Mademoiselle, you do not resemble one. You are lovely. Now, let us depart for supper; I am ravenous."

I plucked my cloak from a hook from the tiny hall closet. Erik moved swiftly to assist me with it. We swept through the hotel lobby and out into the London evening.

Erik hailed a hansom and we settled into the carriage for the short ride to our destination.

Nightfall had shrouded the city in darkness. Lamplight cast distorted shadows on the passing buildings and cloaked figures huddled together against the damp mist as they hurried about.

Suddenly, Erik's hand appeared in front of me. He closed the velvet curtain over the carriage's small window.

"Hey you, I was sight seeing!" When I turned to protest further I found myself promptly pulled into a passionate kiss. Our tongues met and explored the moist warmth of our mouths. Erik slid an ungloved hand through the front of my cloak and into the bodice of my dress. His fingers tickled my décolletage while he felt around for a few seconds; then he withdrew one of my breasts, which he began to lovingly fondle.

"God, I adore these," he murmured against my mouth.

_Yep, definitely a breast man_.

Rendered helpless to do anything more than respond to Erik's will, I moved against him. Before I knew it, both of my breasts were exposed, and Erik was nibbling on the nipple of one while gently running his finger around the areola of the other.

The tingling between my thighs grew in intensity and I began to quiver with anticipation. The man was causing my mind's eye to venture into a forest of forbidden thoughts: Erik and I were naked. His body nestled between my legs, the muscles of his smooth butt flexing and releasing each time he thrust himself fervently into me while I greedily rubbed my hips against his. Waves of pleasure surged over me as I silently begged for more…

Reality shoved its way into my brain when the carriage rocked to a stop. Erik didn't seem to pay it any mind—he was still preoccupied with his mammilla obsession.

"Erik, stop it before the cabbie opens the door and gets more of a tip than he bargained for!" I re-situated my breasts and straightened up my skirts.

"Then I would have more money in my pocket," he teased.

Glowering at Erik only caused him to throw his head back and roar with laughter.

When the door to the carriage did swing open, he was adjusting the clasp on my cloak.

"Here we are, Monsieur, the Restaurant des Gourmets--Madame?" The driver extended his hand to assist me in disembarking.

Erik followed behind to settle up with. I paused in the cobblestone street and drank in my surroundings. "London 1877, unfreaking-believable," I breathed.

**- o -**

_**Much excitement is on the way. Again, I shall beg you to shoot a review my way. Thank you for your reviews. It keeps me rolling – Leesa**_


	34. Ch 34 Romance and Rage

_Hello faithful readers and reviewers and you lurkers too. Thanks for hanging with me, not to mention Erik and Gabrielle, those maddening and impetuous lovers. Please read and review. - Leesainthesky_

**Re-cap: After a little love play, Erik and Gabrielle head out into the big city of London for supper…**

**Ch 34 Romance and Rage**

The Restaurant des Gourmets was off the beaten path on Lisle Street, next to the Empire Theatre. Erik joked dryly that when he and Eugene first became partners, Eugene thought that because Erik was also a composer, dinning in the proximity of a theatre was a splendid way for his new business partner to meet women of the arts community.

Erik did not agree.

Nestled among a few other restaurants and houses, the restaurant was not impressive from the outside with its double window, yellow curtains and whitewashed door.

Upon entering, the maître d'hôtel glanced warily at Erik. Erik checked to make sure Monsieur Mangeot had made previous arrangements for us. The snooty man changed his tune when he saw E. DuPuis written in his reservation register. The composer was popular among London's artsy set.

The maître d' tripped over himself attempting to gratify us. He showed us the best table in the house and promptly brought a bottle of wine to our table. Erik rewarded the man's efforts with a hefty tip.

The restaurant dripped with romance. Black leather couches and small tables covered with white tablecloths dotted the dining room. At the far end was a sloping glass roof. Blush toned paper on the wall gave the room warmth.

Countless servers tended to our every need. Erik told me des Gourmets was one of his favorite places to dine, not only because of the fine cuisine, but also because of its discrete, candle-lit atmosphere.

We dined on sumptuous fare, accompanied by a select Pinot Noir, followed by a light dessert and an exceptional port.

The wine had loosened my lips and I prattled on about anything and everything that crossed my cranium.

"So Erik, why do you think Queen Vicky is such a vigilant prude? Is it because now that her beloved Albert has passed on, she figures that if she can't get any booty, no one else should either? I know losing the love of your life is no picnic, but gee wiz, orphans are running in the street, the country's poverty rate is sky high, they're banning books and tossing the authors in prison for being too vulgar, and everyone has to hide their affections. The old girl needs to get over and on with it. Know what I'm saying?"

The corners of Erik's lips turned up in amusement, "I could not say what her thoughts are, darling. Her Royal Highness seldom beckons me to high-tea these days."

"Traditional English food usually sucks. I'm glad you brought me here. Tell me, how is it that someone as reclusive as you are knows where to find the good grub in this town?"

Erik dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin and placed it next to his plate, signaled that he was finished eating. "Monsieur Mangeot and I entertain clients from time to time. It is not an activity I enjoy; however when I do accompany him, I prefer fine establishments serving, as you put it, _good grub_."

"Naturally, Erik Dupuis is a man of considerable wealth and taste—he's rather cute too."

Erik raised his eyebrow at me, "Cute? That, Mademoiselle is a label I am certain that has never been connected to me. I daresay, Gabrielle, I believe the wine has gotten to your head."

"I'm just in a good mood. You're the one who kept ordering wine; one would think you were plying me with drink in order to take advantage of me."

Erik snorted, "As if resorting to such means is necessary for you to respond to my advances."

I crossed my arms in mock outrage, "How un-gentlemanly! I shall not speak to you for the rest of the evening!"

Erik raised his hand for our server to bring the bill. "We must go. The hour is late and I have a full day planned for tomorrow."

He moved to my side of the table and pulled out my chair. "The inn is not so far that we cannot stroll back, providing the rain has diminished."

"I suppose I could use the fresh air, but you'll have to let me lean on your arm, these little shoes I have on are rather unstable."

"It would be my pleasure dear."

Erik paid the bill, and then had an attendant fetch our outerwear. "Your cloak, Mademoiselle," he held it up to wrap around me, donned his own gloves, cloak and hat and led me out into the night once more.

"I meant what I said; well maybe cute is too trite a word, but you are an alluring man, Erik, at least in my eyes," I said softly.

He linked his arm in mine, "What is behind all this flattery, Gabrielle?"

"Only the truth, Erik," I withdrew my arm from his and splayed my palms out in a show of exasperation, "When will you realize that I am not toying with you?"

"I know, Gabrielle, bearing false witness is not your way. Please, do not be frustrated with me. Kind words from women are not something I am sure I will ever become used to," Erik re-claimed my arm and drew me back to his side while we resumed our walk.

The workweek had come to a close. Theatres, restaurants and pubs were operating at full tilt and a considerable number of people milled about the city's streets.

I was too busy gawking at the street life when a woman and her escort brushed past us. Upon bumping into her briefly, I issued a polite _pardon me_; she glared back rudely.

"Friendly," I muttered under my breath. "So then Erik, where will you be taking me tomorrow?"

"Madame Mangeot frequents a dress maker whose work is as fine as any in Paris. That will be our first stop. Then, if you like, I'll take you to the fashionable Pantheon Bazaar on Oxford Street for more shopping."

"Whee!" I skipped a few steps. "I love shopping, especially if someone else is buying—oops, I did not mean that the way it sounded, I swear it." I held a lace-gloved hand over my mouth.

Erik chuckled softly and kissed the top of my head, "Not to worry, Gabrielle. Your enthusiasm is refreshingly feminine. If shopping brings you joy, then it is my pleasure to serve you."

"You're the best, Erik," I brought his glove-clad hand up to my lips and kissed it.

It was then that I caught sigh of two well-dressed couples walking toward us. Utter disgust showed on their arrogant faces. Evidently, they had caught the brief exchange of affection between Erik and me. I glanced up at him to see if he'd noticed. His expression was stony. He stared past them and picked up our pace.

"Good God, how can that young woman stand kissing that odd looking man?" I heard the younger of the two women say to her male companion.

"No doubt he is well-heeled," replied the man. The four of them broke out in a small fit of stifled giggles. Then the older woman said, "Yes, unquestionably _very_ well moneyed. There is no telling what horrors she must endure. Oh, what that mask must hide!"

Outrage seethed through my veins. Without warning I stopped, broke from Erik and approached them, "How dare you insult those you do not know you…you…heifer!"

"I never!" the woman shrieked, clutching fearfully to her husband's arm.

Erik stood by too stunned to respond.

"Woman, have you no manners," bellowed her husband indignantly.

"_My _manners sir? You dare to reprimand me about my manners while the four of you openly insult us, you prig!" I jabbed a finger at him.

I caught the low growl of Erik's voice as he stepped up to my side, "Gabrielle, come here, _now_. Pardon us", he offered tersely.

"No Erik! Do not apologize to these ignorant fools!"

"Gabrielle dear, let us be on our way now," Erik said through gritted teeth.

The foursome continued to gawk at Erik's face while he pushed me forward. We were barely past them when I heard the following exchange:

"What a vulgar American woman! Common, I'm sure."

"Indeed, and that peculiar Frenchman, really, there are more freaks on the streets of our fair city now than ever. The Queen should disallow these foreign ne'er-do-wells."

I yanked my arm away from Erik, and rounded on them. It was time to get mid-evil.

"All right, that's it!"

Two pair of shocked eyes turned to stare at me.

"Where I come from, only low class scum dares to hurl insults at people who are not bothering them, yet here you are decked out in your uptown finery, wagging your pompous tongues at whomever you please. You all should be ashamed of yourselves!"

The older man stepped forward and spoke sharply to Erik, who by now had caught up with me. "Sir, can you not control your woman?"

"Stuff it you dickless phony." I motioned to Erik. "This fine man does indeed have more manners than I, because he suffers the crap people like you spew at will. He thinks he has to hide his deformity so as not to shock the likes of you, while you freely share the deformity that rots in your soul!"

"Willard, are you going to allow that little tart to speak to you so?" his wife whined.

I faced the old cow. "I feel sorry for you; by the looks of your pinched face, you haven't had a good lay in decades. At least my man doesn't suffer from a lack of virility."

Erik had reached his limit with my shenanigans. He picked me up and unceremoniously threw me over his shoulder.

"_Enough_ Gabrielle," he reprimanded loudly and carried me away from the objects of my disdain.

"Put me down!" I kicked my legs against his chest in vain.

The couples stood frozen in place, watching the masked Frenchman haul the crazed American woman into the night. I wouldn't have been surprised to find them wondering what sort of she-devil they had just encountered.

"Damn it all Erik, put me down! What are you a Neanderthal?" I wailed.

"Not quite, but you have become very much the banshee. And, no, I will not put you down unless you promise to calm down and conduct yourself like a lady," he answered.

"But Erik, people are staring at us."

"Yes, so it would seem. Not pleasant being a curiosity now is it dear. I did not appreciate your uncouth behavior this evening, Gabrielle!"

"And I did not appreciate those boorish prigs' insults; they were uncalled for. People like that need a sound dressing down."

Erik stopped walking, put his hands around my waist and set me down in front of him on the sidewalk. He held onto me while he spoke, "Gabrielle, I am extraordinarily disappointed in your behavior. What in the devil's name would prompt you to behave so?"

"I don't like it when people say bad things about you."

"I do not require you to protect my honor. Mademoiselle, your actions have proved to be one reason why we should take caution in forwarding our relationship. Obviously, you cannot comprehend why I must live as I do."

Erik released his hands from my waist. I was rooted to the spot where he'd set me down and searched his face. The seriousness in his eyes made me numb with dread.

Could he really believe that our life experiences were so different that there could be no hope for a relationship beyond what we now had? I felt dizzy and hot, as if I wanted to pass out. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

Erik reached his hand to steady me, "Gabrielle, I am terribly sorry dear, but this is a fate that…"

I held up my hand, "If you must continue, then talk to the hand because the mind can bear no more of your sorry rationalizations. You either like me or you don't, Erik, end of story."

I spun on my heels and walked ahead of him so he couldn't see the tears that begin to blur my vision. I held my head high so they would run back into my sinuses and gulped in deep breaths of the cool night air. Yes, I was tipsy and that heightened my emotions for sure, but I could not fathom how such a wonderful evening had gone so desperately wrong.

Maybe Erik was right. I tried so hard to restrain my personality, but I couldn't squelch it for long. As a reporter, such attributes were useful. My friends liked to tell me I had moxie and I was fun to be around. Clearly, Erik did not consider these traits a plus.

After proceeding on my own for a while, Erik eventually caught up with me. I'm sure he could guess I hadn't a clue to where I was after we turned off Lisle Street. Silence was our companion for the remainder of the way back to the Lincoln.

All the way to our hotel, I walked a brisk three steps ahead of Erik, slowing only to ascend the hotel's marble steps, which were still slick from the rain. Sweeping through the lobby, I nodded briefly to the night desk clerk and continued up to our suite with Erik somewhere close behind.

Reaching the suite, I stood aside so he could unlock the door and then entered without saying a word.

Erik unhooked his cloak, removed his hat and tossed them haphazardly over one of the armchairs. "We will continue our discussion in the morning. Be prepared to leave shortly after waking," he instructed tersely.

"I see. We're leaving are we? Whatever—and thank you for a lovely evening, well, mostly lovely anyway."

"Goodnight, Gabrielle," Erik replied flatly.

I headed for the bedroom door then turned back to Erik, "Maybe this will all look different in the morning. Are you coming to bed, Erik?"

He avoided my eyes while he answered me, "No, tonight I will sleep here, on the couch. It's for the best."

"How comfy; suit yourself."

I shut the door and ripped off my clothing. The stupid corset was killing me. It would take three days for the undergarment's impressions to disappear from my skin. After flinging everything onto a chair, I slid under the bed covers. I hadn't even bothered to put on a nightgown or wash my face. I didn't care; I only wanted rest.

"Stupid me, stupid, stupid me," I said, while pounding my head repeatedly into a pillow. "No, stupid him, stupid, stupid, stubborn, ice-water-for-blood, egotistical, heartbroken _him_—arggggghhhh!" I screamed into the pillow, then flipped on my back and stared at the door.

A carousel of thoughts spun around in my head.

I hadn't been _that_ inebriated tonight, so what caused me to go off on those people? True—it had always been my nature to defend my friends, and hearing those fools insult Erik angered me, but why did I react so fiercely? Could it be the stress of the past seven months bubbling to the surface, plus the enormous shock to my system of being shot into another realm and losing my entire network of family and friends? Add a substantial dose of confusion, stifling loneliness and the unending exasperation of misinterpreting nearly everything and everyone I met and ka-boom! _I guess it is no wonder I detonated_.

I thought of poor Erik. What does he know about human nature other than their capacity for cruelty and torture? One of his key survival techniques had been to hide from the ridicule of others, and tonight, rather than defending him from ridicule, I may have rubbed his face in it—certainly not my intention, but…oh my god! The realization of my gross faux pas made me sick.

_I wondered if it was too late for an explanation and an earnest apology._

"And now he's sleeping on that cramped little couch because he cannot stand to think of me. I am an ass,_" _I said aloud.

Popping out of bed, I snatched up a pillow, found an extra blanket folded over the end of the bed and carried them out into the parlor. There was Erik, scrunched up on the little couch, asleep. The man could sleep anywhere; that much I knew, but still, he looked so pitiful, so lonely. I tiptoed over to the loveseat and gingerly lay the wool blanket over his legs, then propped the pillow on the couch beneath where he'd folded his hands under his head_. "_I do love you enigma man," I whispered light as air, and then quickly retreated to the bedchamber.

That night I said my prayers. I prayed that God would help me to know what to say and what not to say. I prayed for patience for both of us, and finally I prayed that Erik would not forsake me.

- O -

**_Again, thanks for the reviews. It matters a lot to us writers, even if it's a shortie. Another update is coming soon. Major props to my beta Amy! Have a great week –Leesa_**


	35. Ch 35 Strange Angel

_Hi readers. This is an intense chapter. Enjoy it and please don't forget to post a review. _

_-- Leesainthesky_

**Re-cap: Snooty people insult Erik on the streets of London. Gabrielle tells them off and Erik goes ballistic, calling off the shopping trip…**

**Ch 35 Strange Angel **

If not for the rich meal, substantial wine and sheer exhaustion from last evening's amusements, sleep would never have come at all. Crying myself to sleep was becoming a regular occurrence for 19th century Gabrielle. I wondered if some angry warlock had put a hex on the female sensibilities of women of this century. I'd never been prone to such emotions before. Sometime after sunrise, I awoke to the sounds of London coming to life.

With no reason to roll around in bed and ruminate over my misfortunes, I made my way to the washstand to splash water on my face and tossed a blouse and skirt on over my chemise. I rubbed in a dollop of moisturizer on my face, combed my hair, and then crossed the room, leaned over a petite writing desk and brushed back the curtains. I hefted open the window to allow a breeze into the stuffy room.

On the street below, not too many citizens were milling about just yet. The costermongers and other peddlers were setting out their wares up and down the street where allowed.

_I must get out of this hotel and pull my thoughts together_; I considered taking an early morning stroll.

First, I had to feed the nagging hunger to write. It would be a letter where the writer throws words onto a page like pieces of a puzzle, then attempts to construct a plausible picture from all those random pieces.

The letter began: _Dearest Erik, my hope is that it is not too late for an explanation and an earnest apology._

I sat at the writing desk, pulled out one of my last working ball point pens, tore a sheet of paper from my journal that I had brought with me, in which I planned to record my Victorian adventures, and began composing. Free writing was a marvelous way to get the poison out of my system.

I wrote to Erik about my late night revelation of how I unwittingly embarrassed Erik in my attempt to defend him. I mentioned that my unladylike behavior could be traced to my need to unload months of frustration and sadness on someone deserving of my ire. I also assured him of how much I loved him, and I begged for his forgiveness.

Upon re-reading the letter, I decided to edit out the hastily scribbled, unintelligible and misspelled words and re-write it for Erik's eyes.

With the way my foot insisted on popping itself in my mouth, I thought it best to communicate through written, rather than spoken words. Written words are easier to fix than spoken ones.

_Maybe my nickname really should be Gabby_, I considered disdainfully.

Ever hopeful for reconciliation, I'd left the bedchamber door open a crack before going to bed last night, in case Erik chose to join me. This was a fortunate move, since I wished to exit the suite without waking Mr. Super Sonic Ears. Slowly I opened the door. Erik had curled up on the love seat with his back to me and his feet on the armrest. The blanket still lay over him and he had the pillow stuffed under his head and one arm.

With my shoes and cloak in hand, I crept through the room and lay the letter on the table in front of the loveseat where Erik slept. I then crept to the door and gingerly turned the brass doorknob. I cringed when the door squeaked open, and exited quickly. Halfway down the hall, I realized I hadn't bothered to check our suite number. I backtracked, noting the brass plate on the door with 307 engraved on it.

_Number_ _307, okay Gab; lets not forget lest you surprise a sleeping nobleman and his wife or mistress._

I slipped into my shoes and cloak at the top of the staircase, and then descended to the lobby where Monsieur Fitzgerald was busy working at the front desk. I approached him to inquire where I might find a nearby bakery.

"My dear lady, you shall find many a good bakery in the vicinity. Are you in search of traditional English fare or something more like a patisserie?"

"I have a yen for some of your wonderful English scones," I said.

"Very good then, Austin's on Baker street is an excellent choice." he leaned forward and squinted in the direction of the street. "Upon exiting the hotel, turn to your left and walk down Gloucester Place until it meets with George Street. Turn right down George then left to Baker Street. Walk up Baker one half-block. Across the street you will see Austin's Bakery; of course, your nose will tell you before your eyes do," he chuckled.

I offered the man my thanks and headed out of the hotel. A dense fog still hung in the air, cloaking the neighborhood in dampness. Chilled, I drew the cowl over my head and walked, re-iterating Fitzgerald's directions in my mind. The man was correct, I could smell the pastries and fresh breads baking before I could see the sign for Austin's.

The shop was already buzzing with several hungry people when I entered, causing me to stand in queue for several minutes. I considered the glass cases filled with many delectable freshly baked breads, scones and turnovers. When it was my turn to order, I chose four apple cinnamon scones and a cup of tea.

I situated myself on one of the small tables inside the bakery's large window and drew out a piping hot scone. While sipping and munching, I thought about Erik and the letter. I hoped my written words made more sense than my spoken ones. Last night had begun with bright promise and ended in disaster.

My cup of Earl Grey finished, I supposed I ought to make my way back to the hotel. Once inside the lobby I requested that tea service be delivered to the suite. Fitzgerald assured me the process would take a scant twenty minutes to arrange and deliver.

After offering my gratitude, I hurried off, reasoning that if I dashed up the stairs to our suite, I would not have time to think about what l may face on the other side of that door. Running was not proper decorum for ladies, but I didn't give hooey. I sprinted up to the third floor and down the hall to room number 307.

I found the door locked. _Dang nab it Gabrielle_, I cursed myself silently, _you should have guessed that the door would be set to lock after you. _

Having to knock was humiliating. "Erik," I called softly, "its Gabrielle. I've locked myself out, please let me in."

There I stood like a dork, clutching my little brown bag of scones, waiting for Erik to open the door.

I watched the knob rotate. Erik pulled the door open wide. He appeared rumpled, not customary for him, and he was still wearing the white shirt and trousers he'd slept in. "Entré, svp, mademoiselle," he said evenly, making an exaggerated sweep with his arm, "Out and about already, dear?"

"I brought something to eat…scones; tea is on the way too, if you feel like partaking of any."

Erik remained silent. I walked past him and placed the little bag on the table in front of the love seat then flopped down in an armchair.

"Not staying then?" he asked.

"Of course I am; why would you say such a thing?"

"Your cloak, you still have it on."

"Oh, that. I'm chilly; I'll remove it when the tea gets here."

Erik nodded and took the love seat opposite me. We pondered each in silence.

I sat fidgeting. Erik looked around, pretending to study the room.

The silence made me anxious. I could take it no more, "Did you have a chance to read the note I left for you?"

"Indeed, I did."

More silence while Erik observed me calmly, which did nothing for my nerves. I averted my eyes, rose from the chair and approached the table with the roses. I reached out to touch one of the tender petals. _Yellow, the color of bright promise—another urban legend_, I thought sadly.

"Gabrielle," Erik began hesitantly, "No one has ever bothered to apologize to me for any manner of wrongdoing, nor have they ever paused to defend my honor. Your actions last night, no matter how puerile, proved to me one important fact that I cannot ignore no matter how much discomfort I have suffered. I fully realize that you truly do love me for _me_."

Stupefied by this remark, I spun to face him, "What, pray tell, kept you from believing me before last night Erik?"

"I'm not sure…it is complicated, Gabrielle. That is my quandary. Why on earth would a woman of your spark and intelligence shame herself by loving me?"

I uttered a short, exasperated sigh, "First off, I do not shame myself by loving you—how insulting, Erik! Secondly, you infer that I hang around your gloomy ass because I need the creature comforts you provide. I am so very pleased to know you figured out how _wrong_ that perception is!" I was highly annoyed.

Erik released a deep breath and stood abruptly, "Forgive me for being perplexed by this—this _emotion_ that permeates the prose of poets and lyricists as far back as authors can be quoted, the very apparition which has eluded me since birth, the elusive butterfly all of humanity peruses with such vulgar enthusiasm," Erik spat sharply.

"Never have I been able to touch her fragile taunting wings, until you come to me from another century and claim to love me. I have convinced myself that love in your century must mean something much less than it is in mine. Perhaps it is a simple expression of basal, physical desire."

"That's what you believed—I said I loved you because I was hot for your touch? Holy $hit, Erik!"

He continued his stoic discourse, "In the beginning, I imagined you pitied me, but your kind attentions assuaged my craving for human touch. I reasoned that you were lonely and in need of masculine contact, but I now realize that your ardor transcends the boundaries of such physical needs."

I leaned against the tall table where the roses were, clasped my hands in front of me and leaned toward him, "Oh Erik," I sighed despondently, "I engage in those activities with you _because_ of my affection for you. Please listen to me; I love you for your brilliance, your talent, and your wit. Your compassion for my plight touches my heart. And yes, I am enormously attracted to you. Is that unfathomable?"

I watched his forehead wrinkle into a frown.

"All your living days you've been violently rejected for your looks, but where I come from, people are not so ignorant about such things. As I have told you numerous times, Monsieur, your very essence attracts me to you. I do not find your looks offensive; in fact, I wish you'd ditch that mask, especially when we are intimate."

Erik stood and raked his hands through his hair. I'd never seen him as rattled as he was now. He paced the length of the parlor, pursing and un-pursing his lips. Suddenly, he swung around and smacked his fist in his hand, "If I were angry with you, or indifferent, I would know how to proceed, but I am mystified by these new impulses and intentions that consume my very being."

He paused, reluctant to continue, "You see, Gabrielle, I—I thought I had loved Christine Daae, and in my way, I did. In truth, I knew her only as a talented and adoring young pupil. I was in love with her voice and her exceptional beauty. Lustful obsession compelled me to act as a madman— I had not the experience to recognize the difference between love and obsession. I made a horrid mess of my life and placed the lives of others in peril as well. It is not a mistake I aspire to repeat."

I dropped my head and spoke with quite culpability, "Your current confusion is partially my doing, Erik. I should know that any man of your time would perceive my enthusiastic response to your ardor as wanton. How could you take me seriously when I am forever indulging your lusts? I am not a loose woman, Erik, but where you are concerned there is a depth of affection, a spiritual connection that I can neither explain nor deny no matter how much mental tussling we engage in. I crave you in so many, many ways. Have you any idea what I'm talking about?"

He wandered to the love seat and propped himself against one of its arms. "Indeed I have, yet I am bereft to explain what it is. This irregular emotion is beyond mere sexual desire, could it be _love_ Gabrielle—pure, honest love?"

I blinked at him, "You want _me_ to tell you whether or not you love me? Oh Erik, only you are capable of answering that question."

There was a knock on the door. "It must be the tea," I said thankful for the diversion.

Erik answered the door. He allowed the servant in to place the tea on the table, tipped the man and watched him exit.

He took up pacing again, and then rounded on me, startling me by coming within inches of my face while I was pouring a cup of tea. "Did I not tell you that I was incapable of discerning what I am feeling? If I knew, we would be beyond this nonsense!"

I started and bit of the hot tea sloshed out and burned my hand causing me to drop the partially filled cup. Quickly, I jumped away to avoid further damage.

Erik was at my side before the cup hit the floor. He grabbed a napkin and dabbed at my dress and hand. "I've made you burn yourself. Is it bad? Here darling, let me fetch a wet towel for you," His voice laced with regret.

He disappeared into the bedchamber and returned with a wet cloth. "Sit and give me your hand," he ordered as he seated himself next to me. I obeyed, watching while Erik tended to my hand, placing the cool cloth on the burn.

"It's not that big of a deal, it just stings, that's all," I said.

"Forgive me, Gabrielle. It seems I have found a way to hurt you once more."

"I'm not really hurt, you just startled me. I'm a little jumpy today, not much sleep you know."

Erik shook his head, "Again, I am deeply sorry; you are not accountable for interpreting the chaos in my heart."

I began to pour tea, but Erik gently gripped my wrist to halt my progress.

"Look at me, Gabrielle. Would you wish to spend your life with someone like me? What could that be like for you?"

My eyes met his. "No one really knows what their life with another will be like, Erik; one can only hope for good things and work toward those goals. Could I see myself living with you forever? Most definitely—if you learned to accept your goodness as well as your shortcomings, and if you allowed yourself to trust me."

"Trust is something that has been beaten out of me."

"Without it you will distrust my every word and action, and I cannot exist in a household where my actions will always be suspect. Surely you know what that feels like, Erik."

I hit a nerve because Erik's eyes blazed sharply. He clenched his jaw and fixed his gaze on the wall past my shoulder.

"Touché, Mademoiselle. The idea of love terrifies me. Yet when I contemplate a life without you, I see only emptiness and despair. Since you have come to me, I have lived as a man should live—with passion, with purpose, with hope. I could not bear to lose you now." He dropped his gaze from the wall to my eyes, "Please Gabrielle; tell me you that will not leave me."

With these words, Erik knelt next to me and took hold of my uninjured hand. He looked heartsick.

"I'll not leave unless you ask me to Erik," I reassured him with a smile.

With this, Erik kissed my hand, rested his forehead on my knees and wept.

"Oh sweet dear Gabrielle; I know it to be true – I _do_ love you."

- O -

**_Wow, thanks for your reviews. If you do read this, please forward an occasional review so I know you're out there. As many writers know, it is weird to have a high reader count, but a low review count. I know people do get busy…_**

**_Thanks to Amy, my fab beta._**

-Leesa


	36. Ch 36 Pins and Needles

**_Thank you all for following my story. Your reviews were awesome, the feedback is priceless. I know Erik and Gabrielle can be frustrating sometimes, but they have a lot of _**_"__stuff" _**to work out. It's good to know that most you believe Erik is coming across in a true manner; aloof, angry and moody one minute, vulnerable, kind and passionate the next. At least he doesn't give up! **

**Re-cap: Erik finally admits to Gabrielle that he loves her... **

**Ch 36 **

The Phantom of the Opera wept.

Erik clung to my legs and pressed his forehead against my knees; his hot tears dampening my dress. I stroked his disheveled hair with my free hand and allowed him the silence he needed to process his admission.

"I do love you, Gabrielle, I know I do. There is no other explanation for my need for you," he sounded relieved to be able to identify what had him so tangled up inside.

Erik peered up and searched my face to consider my reaction. His face was wet with his tears. Gently, I reached down and removed his mask, amazed that he offered no resistance.

I shifted on the love seat and motioned for Erik to come and sit next to me. He gained his composure, rose gracefully and took the spot beside me. I lay his mask in my lap, grasped his hands in mine, and rubbed the back of them with my thumbs.

"This love that has claimed me, it alters my self control and I am not accustomed to that. It's most unnerving. How can it be that two people as different as you and I can fit together in spite of the obstacles that plague us?"

"I'm not sure if he's penned it yet, but philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche said, _What else is love but understanding and rejoicing in the fact that another person lives, acts, and experiences otherwise than we do…?_ Perhaps he will find his inspiration for that quotation because of meeting us. You see Erik, differences are good," I said with a smile.

"But Gabrielle, the idea of love, it terrifies me. What if I make a mistake?"

"A mistake?" I chuckled lightly, "Oh you _will_ make a mistake, or two, or three, or thousands. Be sure of it, or have you forgotten that you are not superhuman, Monsieur?"

"If that is so, then it's indeed a wonder anyone can survive such ventures."

"That's why TV psychologists became so popular in the 20th and 21st century," I said sardonically. _Wouldn't Freud faint dead away if he got a load of Dr. Phil? _

Erik made a valiant attempt smile at me while I continued, "Conflict is a natural part of life, Erik. Folks just work through their problems with open, honest communication. Mutual respect is important too, and guarding against deliberately wounding each other—especially when an argument ensues."

I leaned in and kissed his forehead. "I realize that most people in your life have treated you badly. I'll help you work on your reaction to dissention and anger if you'll let me."

Erik considered my words as if he were the ardent pupil and I, the wise instructor. I could see the scribe in his head taking notes.

"Gabrielle, there is so little that you know about me, my past, things I have been involved in that I am not proud of. I wonder if you knew would you still want me?"

"Erik, don't forget I know about the Opera thing. I read about it in the attic."

"Ah, yes, the newspaper clippings."

"And the book I told you about…."

"Book? What book do you refer to, Gabrielle?"

"Remember when I told you about reading the clippings? I told you about the turn of the century book about the Phantom of the Paris Opera. Many of the places, names and events were the same as those in the clippings, but many of the facts were way off. The author exercised total artistic license. I supposed the man must have known you, or had immense respect for you as an artist, because he didn't divulge key information."

"Such as, Mademoiselle?"

"I shrugged, "Let's see…your face. He has you covering your entire face and making you out to be a ghoul."

"Aren't I?" Erik said curtly.

"No, you have a nose and lips and a good amount of your own hair. Your eyes are not a wolfish yellow and you don't have the cold clammy grip of death. You do posses the most heavenly speaking and singing voice ever to touch my ears, and you are a magician, an architect and a genius. Those attributes the author got right."

Erik appeared stunned by my words. A small scowl colored his visible features, "I bid you, continue," he barked.

"In the book, you didn't kill Joseph Bouquet outright. Actually, there is only an inference that you did it, but no proof.

The man was a pervert, always skulking around the little ballerinas dormitories. He had even deflowered a few of the puerile things before they knew what had happened. He came sneaking around where he ought not, so the Punjab lasso taught him a lesson."

I lifted my eyebrows at him.

"Do not judge me, Gabrielle. He wouldn't heed my warnings. What else?" Erik demanded, squeezing my wrists tightly.

"Erik, ouch!" I jerked back, rubbing my wrists.

"Very sorry, darling," he attempted to sooth me by petting my arm. "I fear that I have become too caught up in your tale."

"I can't blame you." I recalled useless details, such as the book's character portrayal, timelines and settings. When he asked me who the author was, I pretended not to recall. I had no wish to see Monsieur Leroux become a hunted man.

"It doesn't matter anyway. Up until 2005, no one has compared the composer Erik DuPuis with the Phantom of the Paris Opera. You have a respectable and renowned legacy," I reassured Erik.

"This is all amazingly fantastic."

"From what I have gleaned by observing the intricacies of your brilliant mind, you are clever, brilliantly talented, polished and refined, in the same instant menacing and cunning as a jackal. You carry an unusual compassion for innocents in peril. I have watched you care for the animals which live on your land, and Monsieur Roux told me of your philanthropic gestures toward a particular an orphanage in Paris."

Erik groused, "That old man has a loose tongue."

"He likes you Erik; so do I. And I know of your time in Persia."

"What do you mean, dear?" He narrowed his eyes at me skeptically.

"You were an architect for the sultan of Mazendaran. That's what I read in the news clipping. There was sketch of a palace that an unnamed French architect was rumored to be designing for the sultan. I guessed it must be you; why else would you save that bit of paper?"

He issued a curt nod, "Go on."

"That book I read in high school also claimed that you were coerced into designing devices for the sultana as well—devilishly creative means of encouraging political prisoners and criminals to talk. She deceived you by using them for more than valid reasons; she used them to torture and murder whomever displeased her or for simple entertainment. Is this true or simple writer's conjecture?"

Erik turned from me and glowered, "What if it is? Will you unleash your outrage against me and run away, terrified of what you believe I may do to _you_ Gabrielle?"

"No, I haven't reason to, do I Erik?" I stroked his back with my fingertips.

"Oh Gabrielle," he lamented. "Do you not realize I would never, ever harm you? I have harmed no one who did not deserve my wrath. I have only put an end to a life out of desperation for my own survival. Please, you do believe me, don't you?" Still facing away from me, Erik hung his head and spoke in a deep, dry whisper. His pain was palpable.

My heart ached for Erik. I wrapped my arms around him and laid my head on his broad back, "Erik, I believe you implicitly, and I love you dearly." I hugged him so hard my arms began to go numb.

He turned around to face me and there were tears shining in his jade eyes. He then startled me by pulling me into a deep, impassioned kiss.

The kiss lasted so long, I felt as though we'd moved into another realm. No other sensations existed except those between my love and I.

Eventually our lips drifted apart of their own accord. Erik and I gazed at one another in rapt amazement. "Gabrielle," he murmured, "With you I am whole."

Tilting my head slightly, I smiled warmly, "Erik Dupuis, I said you've _always_ deserved to love and be loved in return."

He nodded and looked away attempting to will his tears back into their ducts. I too was misting up at this tender tableau. I reached into my skirt pocket for a handkerchief and handed it to him.

Erik accepted the square of linen from me and dabbed at his eyes. "How pitiable and un-masculine of me to cry in your presence, Gabrielle. My sincere apologies, mademoiselle."

"Erik, sweetheart, you're the most masculine man I've known in any century, bar none. You do not have to apologize. Allowing your heart to feel again is a monumental event."

"I suppose you are correct. Here darling," he said handing the damp hankie back to me. "We really must be going, I've arranged for a carriage to pick us up promptly at nine."

"So…we're still planning on our trip to the bazaar and the dressmaker?"

"Why wouldn't we, darling?" he waved off my comment as if last night's debacle never happened. "Change into a day dress. I'm off for a bath. Be ready in one hour's time."

"Thank you!" I granted him a kiss on his right cheek and scurried off to the bedchamber to change for our shopping adventure in merry old Victorian England.

Think of today's London, with streets full of people, vehicles, street peddlers, shops and parks, and you've got roughly the same thing going on in 1877, minus a few tall buildings and other updates of course.

"This is so cool!" I bubbled to Erik as I checked out the urban landscape from the window of our private carriage. "Look! Oh my God, there's a man spinning three dishes on three separate poles, just like in the tapes of the old Ed Sullivan show!"

Erik simply smiled and tolerated my child-like enthusiasm.

Sure, London was visibly dirty; there were urchins in the street, stray dogs and beggars strewn among the finely attired men and women of the upper class and their elegant trappings. Today, there are just as many pollutants in the world's big cities of my home century; they're just not as obvious.

"We've arrived at Madam Roche's shop, Gabrielle. I shall accompany you to instruct her as to your needs, and then I will leave you in the seamstress's capable hands. Choose whatever textiles and colors you like, but be sensible."

"Not to worry, Erik. I won't be frivolous with your generosity." I assured him.

"That's not what I meant, dear. Spend what you like, but take care not to commission anything too dense, for our French summers can be most stifling."

"Oh, got 'cha."

"And Gabrielle, my love?"

"Yes?"

"Retire the slang."

"Yes…indeed monsieur."

My proper response earned me a brilliant smile and a kiss. Erik playfully slipped his hand over one of my breasts and winked.

"Shall we?"

The coachman attended us as we disembarked from the carriage. Madame Roche's shop was in the fashionable West end, not far from our hotel. The customary shopkeeper's bell tinkled when we entered, signaling her that she should leave her sewing and meet one of her cherished customers. Ready to wear had become available in the last half of the century, and dressmakers were suffering the effects of many of the lower class women choosing the less pricey department type stores of the arcades and bazaars. Only the upper classes frequented a couturier.

From behind a curtain that led into another room, I heard the hurried voice of a woman call out, "Please, I am coming!"

"She's French?" I whispered.

"Yes, and because of her excellence, she still enjoys a brisk business in spite of the nouveaue emporiums."

A tiny woman of about 70 stepped from behind the fringed curtain. She wore a dark dress with a buttery yellow apron over it.

"Ah yes, you must be Monsieur Dupuis and Madame Thomassen. Oui, she is lovely, no? Such radiant dark copper locks." The woman touched my hair and smiled at me then Erik.

Strangers unnerved Erik. He had never seen the woman in his life and stood behind me, stoic and reticent.

Madame Roche' curtsied to us and addressed Erik, "Monsieur Dupuis, Monsieur Mangeot has told me much about your work, and what an elegant figure you make! Come children, sit and tell Emily what you are need of." With both hands, she motioned to a very well used Louis the XIV couch and two chairs.

From behind her ear, she produced a pencil and withdrew what I assumed to be an order pad from a pocket in her apron. A measuring tape hung from her wrinkled neck.

Erik began, "Madam Thomassen requires three day dresses, three blouses with skirts, two walking dresses and a summer evening gown. She is also in need of the pertinent unmentionables," he informed the woman with out batting an eyelash.

"And spare no expense."

Madame Roche bobbed her head in agreement, enthusiastically writing down Erik's instructions. _On the inside, I imagined her thinking cha-ching! _

"Madame Thomassen is to have whatever she wishes as long as it suits her. Since she is from America, you may find it necessary to assist her in her choice of designs and fabrics."

I thought this remark rude and frowned. Erik shot me a subtle warning scowl.

"Madame's garments are to be fit for our Parisian summers, and since we live there, it won't be necessary to design frocks fit for an English dowager."

The little seamstress uttered a polite laugh, "Oui Monsieur, I understand."

"I plan to stroll in Regents Park and indulge myself in some shopping. How long should I tarry, Madame Roche?"

"Three hours will be sufficient, monsieur. If we are not finished when you return, you may wait out here as long as needed."

With his directives complete, Erik bid us adieu.

I spent the next two and a half hours standing in my underwear, while Madame Roche measured, pinned, and prodded me. She complimented me for my fit and supple figure.

"Most of the young women I see are either too soft from living a life of luxury or coarse from having to work for a living—these Mademoiselles are brought in by their benefactors to be fitted for clothes appropriate a mistress. Is Monsieur Dupuis your benefactor, dear?"

"What the—my benefactor Madame?" I could not believe she had said such a thing to me. _Leave it to the French to be so bold. _

"The man is my uncle's business partner. He is helping me to get back on my feet after I lost my husband and most of my family in America and nothing more, Madame," I informed her haughtily.

The woman cackled with glee, "Indeed; your platonic protector! Not that man, dearie. Emily has seen much, and you cannot fool this old crone."

Was it that obvious? I thought Erik and I had done an admirable job of being cool and detached with one another in her presence.

"The mask, it is mysterious and exotic, but I imagine your man hides a disfigurement which he is ashamed to show the world. Ah, the world, it is un-necessarily cruel to what it cannot fathom."

_Would this woman not shut-up? _

"True, but as to Monsieur DuPuis' mask, I cannot say, Madame."

"No, no; that is why the heat of amour radiates from the two of you. You love him in spite of his foibles."

_I used to be good at hiding my emotions from the public at large. _

"Yes Madame Roche," I sighed. "Who can fool a wise woman like you? I confess…I love the man. But its okay, neither one of us is attached to another."

I rather resented being lumped into a pile with those mistresses, which she undoubtedly ran across regularly in her profession.

"It is alright dear girl," she patted my arm briefly before moving on to fit a skit form around my waist, "Emily understands. I will see you for your final fitting in three weeks, and then I will see you no more until you come for your bridal trousseau."

_Is she whack? I wondered. _

I whipped my head toward her, "Oh no, Madame, you are mistaken, I am nowhere close to being engaged to anyone, anywhere in anytime."

The idea of marriage to Erik never entered my mind until the M word began to fall from the lips of mere acquaintances-first from Erik's friend Nadir Khan and now the dressmaker, Madame Roche.

For me, entertaining the idea of marriage meant facing rejection. Erik had professed his love for me, but he wasn't going to ask for my hand. I nearly laughed in the clairvoyant dressmaker's face.

Erik returned to the Madame Roche's shop promptly at 3:30. He listened politely to M. Roche's chitchat, paid her in full for her services and whisked me off to our rented carriage.

"Who knew fittings could be so grueling," I said.

"No more than suffering the hordes in Regents Park with their prying eyes. All of bloody Britain must be about this afternoon. It is a veritable circus in the city today," Erik groused.

"Poor baby," I slid next to him and took his arm in mine. "You know, it's not necessary to visit the bazaar today, Madame Roche outfitted me with every style of garment and accessory I could possible need."

"But you want to shop and sight-see don't you, Gabrielle?"

"I've seen enough department stores and shopping malls, as we call them in 2005, to last both centuries. I am exhausted. Can we please go back to the hotel? I need a nap."

_I realized how much Erik loathed crowds and I saw no need to cause him more stress. From what he told me, navigating the crowded park pushed the limits of his patience. _

"Alright darling, if you're sure… whatever else is needed may be obtained when you and Marie go to Paris for your weekly trip. I will furnish you with the necessary funds."

"You don't need to provide everything for me, Erik; I can buy my own millinery and gloves. Sometimes your generosity makes me uncomfortable."

"My providing for you is not an insult to your abilities, Gabrielle. I want to take care of you, I want to give you everything you require and desire."

"That's sweet, really, I am just not used to it Erik. I've always been an independent girl."

"In 1877, it is not so easy for you to be—perhaps that will change. Until that time comes, allow me to do these things for you."

Reluctantly I agreed.

Shall I have the driver stop at a shop de fromagerie? We can enjoy our midday repast at the hotel before you retire for the nap, dear."

"Sounds like a plan to me. If you insist on being a social butterfly, let it be at supper."

Erik tapped on the driver's window and instructed the man to stop at a place on Oxford Street. The shop carried selections of fine cheeses and a variety of fresh breads from a nearby bakery. We made our choices: a French baguette, an herbed Gorgonzola and Gloucester. Our next stop would be the hotel.

We were making our way through the lobby when Fitzgerald broke away from checking in an elderly couple. "Monsieur Dupuis!" He waved an envelope in Erik's direction. "Here, I have a message for you."

Erik approached the desk warily. "No one knows I am here, save for the Roux's and Eugene," he whispered to me.

Erik inclined his head toward Fitzgerald in thanks and took the envelope from the man. Hastily, he slipped his thumb under the seal and withdrew a piece of stationary with an ornate M printed at the top of the page. I read his face for signs of reaction.

"It seems Monsieur Mangeot is inviting us to dine at his home this evening. Would you be averse to meeting my partner and his wife, Emily?"

"Not unless I have to perform for them in some fashion. Are they nice people?"

"Pleasant enough—both accept me in spite of my appearance and reserve. They have four polite children, the three and five year old do have an irritating penchant for asking repeatedly inane questions."

"They're children, Erik, it's what they do," I giggled at his bachelor-esque perspective.

"I must R.S.V.P. by courier." Erik asked Fitzgerald to send an informal reply of yes for this evening at 8:30, delivered post haste.

I hoped to have Erik all to myself this evening, but I welcomed any opportunity to meet his partner whom I'd heard so much about. Any man able to see beyond Erik's peculiar façade and surly attitude must be a man worth knowing.

Once in the room, Erik suggested a nap for the both of us.

"We should rest for an hour or so, and then we'll prepare for an amusing evening of socialization with my partner and his family," he commented dryly.

"Another social event for the adventuress and her reluctant paramour; don't fret, Erik—at least you have me to deflect conversation off of tonight."

"No dramatics, do you understand, Gabrielle? To be polite, you will partake of one glass of wine, which you will sip from the entire evening. I'm taking no chances with you and that tongue of yours wildcat. Are we clear, my pet?"

"You're no fun," I pouted.

"Gabrielle, I'll have no monkey shines…"

"Only kidding, my love; I'll be on my charm-school best behavior, I promise."

We undressed to our underclothes, kissed and dropped into bed.

- O -

**_A bit fluffy, but don't worry the plot will thicken again! Please review. — Leesa_**


	37. Ch 37 The Dinner guests

_**Loved the reviews for the last chapter. All you lurkers feel free to pop one in too. - Leesainthesky**_

_**Re-cap: Erik and Gabrielle receive an invitation to dinner at his partner's home…**_

**Ch 37 The Dinner guests**

Dressing for dinner was a monumental chore for late nineteenth century upper crust folks. I yearned for the days when I could throw on a nice pair of jeans, maybe a designer sweater, a dab of make up and—batta-bing, you were ready for dinner. In 1877, everyone dressed to the nines even when dining at someone's home rather than a restaurant.

After Erik and I bathed, dressed and attended to our individual toilet, it was already eight o'clock. Fortunately, the Mangeot's townhouse was not far.

Erik, always a fine figure in his evening attire, looked particularly splendid tonight. He wore a dark tails with velvet trim. Silver threads wove through the design on his black brocade waistcoat and a more fashionable, thin black silk cravat graced his neck. His flesh colored mask was in place.

I had to wear the same lavender dress from the night before since I owned so few frocks that would fit on what Erik lustily called my ripe new figure.

"It will be nice to own new clothes that actually fit without having to cinch the rib-breaker so tight," I alluded to my corset.

"Don't fret, you look lovely and the yellow rose adorning your hair is fetching. The Mangeot's would be fools not to approve of you Gabrielle; you'll find them most amiable people."

Erik touched a finger to my chin and tipped my face up toward his. "I've a little something that will add to your evening ensemble." Erik drew a small blue velvet box from his cape and handed it to me.

"What have you done Erik?" I eyed him suspiciously.

"Cease the conjecture and open the box."

Gingerly, I took the oblong box from him. The hinged lid opened with a snap. Inside was a necklace of tiny pearls. An oval diamond was set in the center of the piece.

I lifted the necklace from its stays and ran the milky pearls across my teeth.

_Of course they're real silly girl, this is Erik after all. Dear lord these must have cost a small fortune!_

"What, pray tell are you doing? They are for wearing, not eating, dear."

"Just checking to see if these were the real deal."

"Why, of course they're real; do you think I would give you paste? How absurd."

I held the necklace between my index finger and my thumb, glancing from the gift to Erik. "These are breathtaking, Erik, I've never owned real pearls. I hope you don't think I expect expensive gifts from you all the time. I love being pampered, but, oh I don't know, this feels so weird to me."

"Nonsense, I do this because I wish to. Gabrielle, most of my adult life I have been a man of substantial means, yet had no one to spend my fortunes on. The act of choosing gifts for you is a monumental privilege for me; I do hope you are not insulted."

"Oh, no, no, no, don't misunderstand me, Erik. I more than appreciate your thoughtfulness. Here," I handed the necklace back to him, "will you help me put these on?"

I turned so he could drape the pearls around my neck and work the clasp. The feel of his warm hands on my neck caused a delightful chill to flutter down my spine.I had to admit I did enjoy receiving lavish gifts from Erik.

"There are earrings to match…"

"Erik, this is too much!"

"You have to be fully accessorized, mademoiselle."

"Well, this is true. Let me see them!"

Erik retrieved another small velvet box from his cloak pocket. Inside the box rested an exquisite pair of matching pearl and diamond earrings.

Quickly I removed them, walked over to the vanity mirror in the boudoir and clipped them onto my ears. Polite women did not pierce their ears in 1877 Europe.

Erik's reflection appeared behind me. Seeing his approving smile made me glow with affection.

I spoke to this image in the mirror, "Thank you my love. No one has ever treated me so well in so many ways, well maybe my dad, but that's a little different than one's lover."

I turned and stood on my toes to kiss Erik.

"My _lover_," Erik savored the words. "I hadn't put a great deal of thought into what we are. You and I _are_ lovers aren't we, Gabrielle?"

"You are correct Monsieur Dupuis, we are lovers of the most sincere and passionate sort."

Erik and I stood facing each other with our toes touching and gazed deeply into each other's eyes. We existed in a of freeze frame moment where you remember forever exactly what you wore, thought, said and felt in that instant.

Re-animated, Erik took my lace covered hands in his leather clad ones, "We must depart my lover. I need to stop for flowers for Emily and a fine Cuban for Monsieur Mangeot; he does so love those things."

"You're talking cigar aren't you? Would you get one for me too? In 2005, it's nearly impossible to get your hands on a Cuban cigar since we stopped trading with the country."

"Dear lord, Gabrielle, what would you want with a cigar?"

"Um, to smoke it?"

"You're joking. Only renegade women engage in such masculine pursuits."

"Ah…yes, joking Erik. Disregard my ramblings." _I could tell I was treading into weird water again. I had promised to behave tonight_.

Once a florist and a cigar store were located and the gift items purchased we were finally off for an evening of nineteenth century socializing.

In the carriage, Erik was a gentleman. He nuzzled my neck and complemented me on the fragrance I wore. We necked like crazy and murmured endearments but Erik refrained from fondling me as he had during last night's carriage ride. Erik hadn't made any amorous overtures toward me all day, not even while we napped together in the same bed.

Had his physical interest in me waned? I wondered if his sudden change in demeanor was due to an interest in furthering our relationship, or something more.

Because of the success of Erik and Eugene's architectural firm's, the Mangeot's were able to afford the townhouse and summer cottage, de rigueur for most well to do Londoners. This summer the Mangeot's choose to stay in the city so Eugene could be closer to the firm's latest project, an enormous department store that was to be in the center of town.

Inside of thirty minutes, we arrived in front of the Mangeot's stylish brownstone, in the Knightsbridge section of London.

Once out of the carriage, we ascended the front steps. Erik engaged the ornate doorknocker.

"Gads, how Dickens-esque," I remarked. The doorknocker was a brass gargoyle. It reminded me of the one on Ebenezer Scrooge's door.

There was a whoosh as the heavy door opened. The Mangeot's butler ushered us into a long hall decorated with paintings reminiscent of Marc Chagall. The fragrance of lilac permeated my nostrils, and then I saw Madame Mangeot. Emily was a petite woman in her mid-twenties with upswept blonde hair and hazel eyes. She wore a powder blue silk gown adorned with organza and many ruffles descending from the bustle to the floor that rustled as she moved. The woman reminded me of a hummingbird; buzzing about checking on every one and everything to be sure all was taken care of. Her voice was light and melodious.

"Erik, how generous of you to accept our invitation," she curtsied to the both of us. "Why this must be Gabrielle! So nice to meet you, and what a darling you are. Come, meet my husband and then we will join everyone in the parlor. Supper should be ready in a short bit."

Erik flashed me his trademark rakish smirk and linked his arm in mine. We followed Emily into the parlor where her guests were chatting.

It surprised me to see two other couples present: A balding middle-aged man and a slender hawkish woman of about the same age. They conversed with a demure brunette and a slightly younger man wearing a dark suit with a western string tie around his collar.

"I'd like you all to meet our esteemed guest, the composer and Eugene's business partner, Monsieur Erik DuPuis, of Paris, and his friend, Madame Gabrielle Thomassen of America. Forgive me, the name of your town escapes me…oh yes, Chicago."

We bowed and curtsied to the strangers. Emily gestured to the middle-aged couple, "My sister, Lady Constance and her husband Lord Byron Hunter. And these fine people are George Eliot and her companion, Mr. George Henry Lewes, both acclaimed authors.

"My pleasure," I curtsied again.

"Please, call me Mary Ann, George Eliot is my _nom de plume." _

"And I insist you must all call me Gabrielle."

Mundane chit-chat was exchanged covering subjects such as where are you from, what is it like to live there and what do you think about the latest invention, blah, blah, blah. I observed Madame Mangeot's relatives to be rather stuffy; however, the famous Ms. Eliot and her companion were very unconventional. Ours was a mismatched gaggle of folks indeed. Supper conversation would be interesting.

Madame Mangeot stepped out of the room momentarily, and then returned shortly to announce dinner, "The children have been fed and nanny Grace is getting them ready for bed. Now we adults can sup without interruption. Shall we proceed to supper?" she smiled enthusiastically and directed us to the dining room.

Madame Mangeot situated me on the corner to her right with Lord Hunter on my other side. Erik was on the far corner next to Monsieur Mangeot at the head of the table and Lady Hunter at his right.

While a servant poured wine, I snuck a fleeting look down the table at Erik. He gave me a quick wink, and then gave my wine glass a sideways glance as if to say, "Remember our agreement?" I smiled prettily at him in reassurance of our little pact.

The first course followed the wine. It was a rich lobster bisque.

"I do hope you enjoy shellfish. If it is not to your liking I'll have chef bring you another selection," said Emily.

An uneven chorus of no's sounded around the table, and we all waited for the signal from Eugene to begin supping.

Lord Hunter initiated the conversation, "Dupuis, Mangeot tells me that you and he have your work cut out for you with this new project. The commerce commissioner is giving you a bit of noise over your unusual building design."

Erik shrugged indifferently, "They will oppose any design that does not reflect the tedium of the past masters. Our design is unique in its space efficiency, structure and artistic design. These are not attributes that you will find in many of today's English architects."

Lord and Lady Hunter frowned.

"Ah, but if not for the English, you and my dear brother-in-law would not be so well heeled, now would you DuPuis?"

Erik glowered at the man, "I do not think that Monsieur Mangeot and I would suffer if the Empire decided they no longer needed our services."

"Ah yes, dear fellow, I recall that you are also what…a musician is it?"

I sipped my wine as instructed, observing the heated ping-pong match between opposite ends of the dining table.

Erik's face turned the shade of the white mask he no longer wore. Eugene caught this and intercepted, "Monsieur Dupuis is a most exceptional composer, who can master any instrument placed in his gifted hands. It was just this past season his opera, Requiem for a Lost Soul, played in the West end to sold-out houses for two weeks."

"Indeed," interjected Emily, "the Village Voice dubbed the opera '_a sublime_ _production that combines the eloquence of the old masters with lively, fresh ideas. Monsieur DuPuis' work plunges the audience into emotional depths as deep as Hades itself and soars to a heavenly zenith_.'

"I rather recall the Gazette stating the production was nothing more than a turgid bit of mismatched notes and garish images. No offense my good man, I'm only reiterating what the music reviewer had to say."

"I don't always comprehend why young people feel they must do things different than their predecessors, but I suppose it must be done or nothing would ever change. One of the ladies in my social club, Lady Gerard, saw the production. She said the soprano was of passable voice, but would have preferred to hear the divine diva, Madame Christine de Chaney in the part of Caroleena. She still tours on occasion, you know," remarked Lady Hunter.

The Mangeot's and I froze. I could see they wanted to check the expression on Erik's face as badly as I did, but no one dared call attention to Lady Hunter's oblivious faux pas.

Lady Hunter seemed please with her interjection into the conversation, as if she were in the know when it came to tasteful art. I stole a peek at Erik whose eyes were dangerous slits of fire.

"Nonsense Hunter," Mr. Lewes Cross spoke up. I believe music the caliber of Dupuis' require fresh voices. DuPuis, my friend, your compositions could rescue the failing opera from certain obscurity."

"Here, here darling, I concur," added Mrs. Eliot.

"I fear it will take more than one of my musical creations to rescue the English opera, so many are flocking to those horrid music halls for entertainment, or what I call the lack thereof such," Erik said bluntly.

"I do wish I had been here when for your opera's run, Erik, alas, I was in Chicago at the time," I said.

Erik's countenance had softened slightly; I smiled at him from the far end of the long dining table."

"Don't fret Madame Gabrielle, the Lyric in France plans to perform my latest opera come fall. I must, of course finish the work first,' he added with a touch of droll humor.

"More wine anyone?" Eugene summoned the wine steward, "Stedman, bring the Boudreaux again please, my good man."

"Chicago, what is it like living there Madame Gabrielle? I know nothing of the town though I imagine it is most untamed and savage territory," quipped Lady Hunter.

"Actually, Chicago is burgeoning American city. We have the best rail system in the world, a substantial arts community and many tall buildings, why I wouldn't be suspired if the world's first skyscraper won't be build there within the next ten years."

"You don't say, a skyscraper? It sounds dreadfully American," Lady Hunter snorted.

"Isn't she the cleaver girl to know so much about dull subjects like architecture," Lord Hunter condescended while leering at my breasts.

"What did your people do in Chicago, where they prominent Madame?"

"My father was a magistrate and my mother was from a Russian family, Bashkirtseff…ever heard of them?"

"Aren't they related to the royal family Gabrielle?" Erik added catching on to my game.

"Why yes, I don't like to make a big deal of it. My mother was estranged for marrying a commoner and then moving to America with him. But yes, I do have the Bashkirtseff blood in my veins."

"Such a modest young lady you are, Gabrielle."

"One does not choose one's parentage, Erik."

"I am sorry to learn of your widowhood. Were you married long?" asked Lady Hunter.

"A mere three years."

"And no children, what a pity—with no man to care for you I suppose it you found it necessary to come to Europe for solace."

"Yes, Eugene is a second cousin to my father and my only living relative. When he found out his partner was in need of help, he suggested I assist Monsieur DuPuis at his manor. With the children, I fear there was no room for me here. I didn't want to be a burden," I smiled and nodded to Eugene and Annette.

"Poor dear it must be dreadful for you, being without family and penniless, and at the mercy of a stranger," Lady Hunter continued.

"I manage quite well Madame," I retorted sharply.

Silence claimed the room and I realized all eyes were on me. The heat of embarrassment spread across my cheeks and under my arms, causing my sweat glands to activate.

"Gabrielle is a most intelligent and capable young woman. She hardly requires my benevolence to survive, although it is a pleasure to have her in my home."

_Well hello! It's Erik to the rescue_.

"I'll bet it is a supreme pleasure indeed," whispered the Lord, a lewd sneer spreading across his face.

"You've _no_ idea," I whispered behind my hand. "Monsieur DuPuis is hung like a _stallion_."

I enjoyed watching the color drain from Lord Hunter's face. It was his final lewd comment that evening.

Mary Annhad the wits about her to change the subject, "Madame Gabrielle, you appear to be an independent spirit. I find this refreshing in today's young women. So many ladies of your station focus exclusively on finding a wealthy and titled husband. They possess little identity of their own. Tell me, do you have an occupation or hobby?"

"Remember, I want you to call me Gabrielle—I am more comfortable with American informality. Actually, when I lived in Chicago, I interviewed dignitaries and entertainers for our local newspaper."

"As a woman? How splendidly unusual; one would never see a woman engaged in such bold activities here. It is not allowed!" exclaimed Emily.

"Well it is allowed, Emily, but under a pseudonym," said Mary Ann.

"Yes dear, you know all about twisting round those obstacles don't you," Mr. Lewes, her companion, smiled.

"It is dreadful not being able to practice my trade here in Europe; have you any tips for me Mary Ann?"

"It is the most difficult nut to crack, the nut of prejudice against women. Socrates once said that women could be as smart as men could if only they too had the opportunity for learning. Unfortunately, so risqué was his suggestion that he was encouraged to imbibe in the privileged death of self-poisoning. It is absurd that the declaration of a woman being equally intelligent as a man would cause such a stir!"

"Well I would never have the guts to venture out on my own as you have Mary Ann; you are an exceptionally intelligent and brave woman," Emily observed.

"Emily, you could aspire to whatever you wish to, but you make such a splendid mother, I cannot conceive of you doing anything else. That is meant as a sincere compliment my dearest," Eugene praised his wife,

"Taken as such, darling."

"That is how it should be, women are the vessels and men the instrument that fills them to make them whole. Without men to provide meaning, her life would have little purpose other than ornamentation," blustered Lord Hunter.

"Oh my friend, you had best hold your tongue, else the ladies have you for supper with a fork and a knife," Mr. Lewes Cross chuckled.

I was a hair's breath away from telling him just how archaic his drivel was, "Actually sir, you are physiologically incorrect. Scientists and doctors have known for some time that a man and woman share in the responsibility of conception, in fact I was reading in a medical journal Erik receives at the house about how scientists had discovered how a woman's eggs provide…"

"…Ahem, not quite appropriate conversation for dining, Gabrielle. In spite of her intelligence and breeding, my American friend can get a bit carried away and forget herself."

I started to glare at Erik, and then realized he was not simply warning me, but also protecting me. One slipper-covered foot was poised and ready to slip into my mouth at any moment.

"Forgive me, you are so right Monsieur. See what happens when you send a female to University for six years?" I acquiesced.

"Gabrielle, what is the manner of your work, your writing?" asked Mary Ann.

"Editorials, reviewing social events, theatre and such; I did do a piece championing the rights of homeless women and children when I lived in Chicago. I was fortunate to have a forward thinking family who supported my efforts."

"If you don't mind, I would love to take a look at your writing sometime."

"Oh Madame, having you critique my work would be an unprecedented honor, but I'm afraid most of my published work and stories are back in the States. I saw no need to bring them along with me."

"No matter, whatever you have is fine."

_Wow, George Eliot critiquing my writing—it was an overwhelming honor._

The entrée arrived, a roast spring lamb, relieving all from any more emotionally charged conversation.

I barley picked my dinner. I was nervous being around otherworldly folks and I wasn't too fond of red meat either. Gentlewomen weren't expected to have much of an appetite so no one noticed.

The normal after dinner tradition for Victorian folk was to herd the women into one salon for idle talk and the men to another for fine brandy, cigars and noteworthy conversation.

Not with this diverse crowd. Mr. Lewes suggested we all retire to the library and none of the men appeared to mind his suggestion, with the exception of Lord Hunter, who was obviously not used to mixed company unless it involved food or sex.

We talked of literature, the arts and such absurdities as women wearing corsets and the prohibition of walking about in the evening unescorted.

"If we didn't have to wear all those layers of cloth, we could move around free enough to defend ourselves if a rouge male dared attack us," I said.

"Yes, Madame Gabrielle knows a style of marital arts that could lay out any man bold enough to approach her," Erik offered with raised eyebrows.

"I love American's, you are so very interesting and brash," Emily clapped her hands.

The Hunters, naturally, were aghast.

When Emily held a dainty hand to her mouth in an attempt to hide a yawn, we knew it was time to relieve our hosts for the evening.

Eugene air kissed my hand and Emily begged me to come for a visit soon so we could shop and have tea and meet the children. I promised to send Mary Anna sample of my writing; the Hunters received a polite curtsey and good evening and nothing more.

"Do bring her back, Dupuis," said Eugene, "she's a delightful little spitfire."

"That she is," Erik replied while helping me into my cloak.

The ride home in the carriage was quiet and I wondered if something was amiss. "Erik, I hope I didn't embarrass you this evening."

He looked down at me and casually swung his arm around my shoulders, "Definitely not, but I'll have to say I rather enjoyed the look on Lord Hunter's face when you told him your mother was a Royal Bashkirtseff."

"Yeah, I trumped his ass didn't I?"

"Something to that effect…I did have a burning notion to strangle the man for peering down your décolletage the first half of the evening. What did you say to get the lascivious oaf to cease his ogling?"

"His snide remarks concerning our relationship within the manor began to grate on my nerves, so when you told the group it was a pleasure having me at manor; I whispered to him that he had no idea how pleasurable…"

"That's all it took to shut him up?"

"Well…you'll be angry."

"Gabrielle," Erik rolled his eyes, "Whatever did you do?"

"I told him that you were hung like a stallion."

"Good God, you didn't—how mortifying!"

In the dim light of the carriage light, Erik blushed.

"That was highly improper, dear."

"Oh admit it, you like being envied for your virility. You wouldn't be a man if you didn't, Erik," I nipped at his ear and he pretended to suffer my naughtiness, but I could see the sparkle in his jade eyes.

The remainder of the ride we laughed and talked easily as if we'd been together for years. I had never met anyone with a range of attributes as complex and diverse as Erik. Shy and unsure, intense and passionate, stubborn and occasionally condescending, yet compassionate and sensitive, he was also open-minded, pragmatic and generous. I was a very lucky lady.

Erik told me that over the years his sins had both destroyed and saved him. Despair and anger for what he could not have or control consumed him. It took the kindness of others like the Giry's and the Mangeot's to show Erik not all humanity was cruel; that there was hope for him.

He learned to employ a practiced patience with most of society and with himself. Even Christine's final act of selfless sacrifice affected him profoundly. That is why he made the choice to release her to her beau, the Viscount de Chaney. Erik saw that whatever she felt for him, it could never match what she felt for her boy. She belonged to the light, not the darkness, Erik would say.

It was imperative I remember where Erik had been, but even more important to recognize how far he had come and look ahead to a brighter tomorrow.

Unlike the evening before, Erik and I slept in the same bed. He molded his muscular body spoon-like against mine and held me close through the night.

I was surprised when he made no move to seduce me. In fact, he hadn't made a made an attempt to seduce me since yesterday—normally the man couldn't keep his hands off of me. Like the brave Scarlet O' Hara, I chose to think about it tomorrow, after all tomorrow is another day.

- O -

_**Okay you Erik lovers, give me a shout and tell me what you think. Thanks to you who have taken a moment to review my fic. Thanks to my beta Amy for her help. Interesting stuff is on the way.—Leesa**_


	38. Ch 38 Gentleman Rogue

_**Author's note: This chapter has some hot content in it, so you've been warned. Don't read it if it's not your thing. For the rest of you, enjoy!**_

– _**Leesainthesky**_

**Ch 38 Gentleman Rogue**

Morning had come, and with it came time for our departure back to France.

I'd entertained a niggling thought most of the morning. Ever since Erik professed his love for me, he'd suddenly become less salacious.

Erik and I were in the bedchamber packing our belongings. He was meticulously folding his garments into a small suitcase when I finally summoned the courage to voice my concern.

I sat down on the bed, rested my hands in my lap, and began to fiddle with the lace trim on my dress, "Erik, I need to ask you something."

He turned his head toward me, "Yes, what is it you wish to know, Gabrielle?"

"Has your opinion of me changed recently?

"Changed? How so, darling?"

"I've been wondering…you haven't been your usual amorous self. Are you having second thoughts?"

"Second thoughts about what?"

"Well…about us. It seems as though you're not as interested in me as you once were in, you know, in a physical way."

Erik buckled the straps on his luggage and walked over to me. He reached out a gloved finger to stroke my cheek.

"Lost interest you say, hardly. I've come upon the realization that by constantly indulging my voracious desires on you, I disrespect your feminine sensibilities."

"You're saying _you_ think that _I_ think that you're using me for sexual gratification?"

"Make no mistake, Mademoiselle, your loving touch thrills me beyond my wildest imagination. You must admit, we do spend an inordinate amount of time playing love games. It is not my wish for you to believe sexual release is all I require of you, Gabrielle."

"Erik, you are nothing if now a considerate gentleman; at least you have been with me. Its true many men from the 21st century profess their love to a woman so they can get at her goodies, so to speak. I would wager that men have been trying that ploy since the beginning of time, but not you, Erik. It's not in your nature to be untrue."

_Could this be—a man who put my feelings before his need for physical gratification? _

He encircled me within his arms, his eyes brilliant with fire, "I do love you, Gabrielle and I would be a liar if I did not admit to wanting your _goodies_. I so enjoy your attentions. Please be assured that my desire for you has not waned, I want you every moment of my day."

"And I for you—please don't pull away from me; I want to satisfy you in all the ways denied you for so many years."

He eyed me silently and cracked a devilish smile, "My sweet, if I do not presume too much, then you may do with me what you wish.

"Then you wouldn't feel as If I were using you merely for carnal gratification if I were, say, to seduce you?"

"Not in the least, Mademoiselle."

"When do we leave for the train station?"

"Approximately one and one quarter of an hour."

I rose from to embrace Erik, "Hum, I wonder what sort of mischief we can get into between now and then. Would you be game to find out Monsieur?" I leaned into him and made strategic contact with his hips. I gave his cravat a tug so we were eye to eye.

"But Gabrielle, we've dressed for the day. Do you really wish to undress and redress all over again?"

"Without a doubt," I purred, breaking the embrace.

Erik smirked and stood still, allowing me to remove the coast, cravat, waist coat and shirt. Once I pulled his shirt from his trousers, I skimmed my hands over Erik's chest. He was well muscled with a just enough dark hair to be sexy.

I grazed his small, hard nipples lightly. He drew a sharp breath and closed his eyes, "Enough torturing you sexy wench. Off with those clothes now or I shall rip them from your body!"

"Well alright now, Monsieur DuPuis," I was out of my traveling clothes faster than you could say Paris Hilton.

I reached down to pick up the discarded cravat and looped it around Erik's neck, tugging on the ends of it in an attempt to pull Erik into the bed.

We fell into each other, kissing and writhing around on the bed. Erik's body felt so warm, so right.

"Gabrielle, mon chéri, mon amour," Erik murmured into my hair, then rolled me on top of him. His erection pressed against my hips through the lightweight trousers. I loved the sensation of his sex being so close to mine. Lordy, how I wanted him.

"Erik, I want to make love to you. Please let me," I begged while bestowing a trail of kisses up his neck to his earlobe.

Erik moved his head back to look into my eyes, "Gabrielle, however much I long to, we should wait a while longer to unite our bodies as one. It is imperative that we're absolutely certain as to where this love affair is going. You were terribly hurt by that Tony fellow. It is not my intent to mishandle you in the same horrible manner."

Erik was right in his decision; however much I didn't want to wait, I respected his reasoning.

"Erik, I doubt you would do such at thing, you're very different. That man was a self indulgent narcissist. But you have done so much to demonstrate your consideration of me. I don't fear your fidelity or your intent."

"Never fret about my intentions towards you, Gabrielle. I am nothing if not loyal to a fault."

I sat up and struck a demure pose; not an easy task when you're stark naked. "You must think me a loose woman huh, I mean for wanting you in _that _way?"

"Only if I catch you dallying with another," he narrowed his eyes and spoke in a tone of mock warning.

"Then be assured of my commitment to you and only you, Monsieur. Now then, would you consent to some pre-travel love play?"

"With immense pleasure, my little vixen."

I delivered a kiss to his lips and stretched over to grab a bottle of unpacked body lotion from a pile of toiletries near the end of the bed.

I smiled a Cheshire cat smile and poured out a liberal amount the lotion, giving it time to warm in my hands.

"Come, Erik, off with those trousers," I commanded.

"Indeed, Mademoiselle."

He obliged happily, unbuttoning and slipping off the wool constraints. His glorious sex stood alert, twitching slightly as if sniffing around for something to strike.

I scooted to him on my knees and took him in one lotion covered hand, my eyes never leaving his.

I began a slow horizontal caress up and down his length. Erik closed his eyes and began breathing harder with each stroke of my hand.

I ceased long enough to pump more lotion into my hands.

Flashing a seductive smile, I smeared the fragrant lotion over my body and began massaging it into my breasts.

Mesmerized by the sight of me touching myself, Erik grew harder still and began to stroke himself. I smiled in appreciation and positioned my body over his hips, removed his hand and pressed his hardness between my soft mounds.

The simple act of using my breasts in place of my hands for stimulation thrilled Erik greatly. He moved his body in rhythm to my ministrations.

Low moans rumbled from his throat.

"Do you like what I am doing to you, Erik?"

"Like it? It is so astoundingly erotic, you're causing me to consider what it would feel like to lift you up by your lovely round rump and set you upon my cock."

Even though Erik's bold suggestion surprised me, it sent shivers of delight through me. The moist, tingling sensation between my legs increased considerably.

Erik reached around my back and drew lazy circles on my bottom with his fingers.

"God, you tease me so, Gabrielle," he growled into my mouth.

"That's the idea, Erik, tease you, then please you. Relax and let go for me."

He leaned back into the pile of pillows while I continued to work on him.

"Faster Gabriel, stroke me faster and harder."

I pressed my breasts against him and rubbed furiously against his engorged sex.

"Gabrielle darling," he panted, "beware that unless you stop, I will spill my seed all over you."

"I want you to, sweetheart."

His breath hitched in his throat and with a low, feral cry, Erik spasmed violently. I watched as his release shot forth, covering my breasts and hands with the warm, creamy liquid.

This act of love play had my motor revved up considerably. I rocked hard against Erik's muscular thigh, stimulating myself while he came. He slid a hand between my legs and cupped me lovingly. Two long fingers slid into my wetness and thrust in and out of my wet core, keeping pace with my rocking.

I let go in a blaze of white-hot light. The sensation was so intense; I thought I would pass out from pleasure. "Erik, I love you. I'm yours completely," I confessed breathlessly.

"Mon ange de l'amour." He wrapped his arms around my back and kissed my nape. After we took a few minutes to catch our breath, Erik gently pushed me aside, rose from the bed and strode to the water stand. He wet a cloth and brought it back to the bed.

"Lie back and let me wash you, darling."

With long tender strokes, Erik cleaned me off as best he could and tossed the washcloth into a basket across the room (I was tempted to shout out: three points!).

Erik rolled over and propped himself up on his left arm. A strand of dark brown hair fell across the right side of his face. For a moment, he reminded me of a little boy, all at once innocent and curious.

"Thank you, Gabrielle."

"You're welcome, Erik, but for what?"

"Giving me a chance to be a man; forty five years of my life have transpired without knowing what it is to be loved by a woman. And now you are here, my angel of all that is good, my gift, my Gabrielle."

"Aw Erik," I reached up to sweep his hair back in place. "I don't know how much of a gift I am. I'm a headstrong, quirky ball of confusion to you."

"Any woman has the power to confuse me, Gabrielle. But you are the one who loves me and treats me with respect."

"You're worthy of such, Erik. Hey, we ought to get a move on or else we'll miss our train."

Erik sat up abruptly and checked his pocket watch from the bedside table, "Indeed you are. Dress quickly my dear or we'll be walking to France."

"…and swimming. I don't think I'm up to taking on the waters of the English Channel today."

We dressed, gathered our things, bid Fitzgerald adieu and began the laborious trip back to DuPuis Manor.

**- O -**

**_Thanks for reading, for lurking and as always, reviewing. We are not supposed to name reviewers but I am posting initials this time because the reviews for the last chapter were funny and/or helpful. Thanks to pf, pmel, ar, fs, p, sls, botr, mbin, kbe, fl27, you know who you are. Gabrielle's got a big surprise coming up in the next few chapters._**

_**(Thank you, Amy, my beta)**_


	39. Ch 39 Taking the Dive

_Thank you for your reviews. I live for them! Now that you have taken your cold showers, let us continue with Gabrielle and her wonderful "damaged genius" (thanks PMEL). _

**Re-cap: Gabrielle shows Erik yet another way to enjoy her charms. They return from London. Life goes on...**

**Ch 39 A Proposal**

Paris and the surrounding countryside birthed a springtime of pastel watercolor beauty, fragrance and warmth.

If not for the occasional difficulties of using 19th century conveyances, I could have nearly forgotten all about my 21st century life. In my world, there was only Erik.

We spent our days exploring the grounds of his estate on horseback, teaching one another our favorite songs, or in the library reading, often aloud to the other whenever we came across a passage of interest.

There were many moments of personal discovery too. I learned that Erik was at his best in the late afternoon and into the evening, in this way, we were compatible since I too was a bit of a night bird. During his travels as a young man, he'd been enamored by the sensuous beauty of Spain and longed to experience her ancient charms once more. America was another country Erik dreamed of visiting, even though he'd heard that the Yanks were a crude lot, he admired our bold spirit of perseverance and ingenuity.

And, like many fine Frenchmen, Erik was a master at fencing, a skill he sharpened by fighting his shadow. I offered to be his partner if he taught me. At first I received a resounding no; Erik argued that it would be too easy to hurt me since I was a novice, but relented later when I suggested that I merely assume the role of student.

The elegant Monsieur Dupuis also got a buzz out of learning and using some of my 21st century American slang too. He often made me laugh when, on rare occasion, he used words like _cool _or _awesome. _Once, just to be ornery, when Monsieur Khan visited, Erik kept referring to his old friend as _dude._ I laughed so hard at Erik's speech and the Daroga's perplexity that I cried.

Most of the time I adopted Erik's terminology, because he had difficulty distinguishing when I was teasing and when I was serious, and not just because of our linguistic differences. Living a solitary existence most of his life, Erik never learned the subtle nuances of communication. True, he watched enough Opera rehearsals to comprehend plots and the actions and intentions of an actor's character, what he didn't realize was that real life was not so cut and dry-there were no scripts.

Tenderly, and with much patience, I was able to help him understand the variety of ways to interpret one's words and motives.

Erik's earnest curiosity made me smile. Although he was a very proper gentleman when it came to matters of etiquette, he made no bones about playing tricks on people if the mood struck.

His favorite trick was to throw his voice.

The first time he did that to me, I was in the stable chatting with Henri when Erik's stallion, Dante, stretched his neck over the top of his stall to nuzzle my shoulder. When I turned to pet the beast, he appeared to be speaking to me, "Madame, would you mind terribly if I nibbled on your shoulder, or have you brought me a sweet today?"

Henri burst into hearty guffaws.

I whipped my head around to look at the horse, and then back to Henri.

Dante then nipped at my shoulder and spoke again, "If you do not give me a treat, then I shall have to take a bit out of you!" The horse's mouth appeared to move with the words.

I was stupefied, and I must have looked quite surprised by the way Henri was falling over himself with laughter.

"Huh? What in the…"

"Madame Gabrielle," said Henri, "I fear you've been had by the master illusionist."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

Erik entered the stable, appearing non-pulsed. "Gabrielle, what is wrong dear? You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"No, but the strangest thing just happened. Dante appeared to be talking to me. Either I am losing what is left of my faculties or someone is messing with my mind. I mean, he's an intelligent horse, but…"

"…A talking horse? Does he speak French or English?"

"Ha, ha smart guy, French, of course."

"My dear, have you gone daft on me? I've met many a horse, but have yet to hear one speaking anything other than-well-horse!"

Then I remembered. In the Leroux book, Erik was a master ventriloquist and he could throw his voice too, an activity he engaged in whenever boredom struck. He regaled me with tales of his fondness for scaring the heebie-jeebies out of the opera staff.

"You!" I pointed at him and whopped him playfully on the shoulder. "I know you're behind this. How did you get Dante's lips to move along with you?"

"It's an ancient secret. If I tell you, your very life will be in danger."

"Yeah, whatever-you probably used peanut butter on his gums like they used to for tele…um…show horses." I nearly blurted out television and movies in front of Henri.

"Peanut butter?"

Since I couldn't remember whether or not peanut butter was a staple in any 19th century household, I dropped the subject.

"Oh never mind."

Both men enjoyed a great laugh at my expense.

As spring progressed into summer, Erik's dark moods all but disappeared and he no longer vanished for days into his subterranean hideaway. On occasion, he even accompanied me to Paris for the weekly market excursions. As always, Marie Roux went along and Henri drove the carriage.

The outings proved to be a means for Erik to re-engage himself with the sights of his beloved Paris. Keeping his left profile to the carriage window, he liked to peer out from behind the velvet curtain.

Once we arrived at the livery, he and Monsieur Roux wandered off to a nearby inn for a bite to eat and a glass of wine or a pint. The inn was dark and therefore suited Erik better than walking about Paris in the daylight.

Besides Erik's paintings, designs and compositions, he enjoyed another great passion--his rose garden. For a man who had lived three quarters of his existence in darkness, the freedom to create while the sun shone was an appreciable privilege, one he obliged by planting the most exquisite rose varieties available.

Erik adored a challenge and had even taken to creating his own hybrid of roses, but had yet to achieve any success from his horticultural experiments.

From spring to early fall the tiered area behind the manor house became a palate of colors found only in a Monet or a Degas; brilliant blooms in every conceivable shade of coral, yellow, pink, white, lavender, and red.

Dressed in faded breeches, boots and a linen shirt, shears in hand, Erik would lead me from one bush to the other and tell me the names of each variety of rose and what sort of care they required.

I made particular note of an enormous bush bearing many blood red roses with long stems and enormous thorns. As I admired it's beauty, Erik cautioned me to be careful. Although breathtaking the bush bore and over abundance of large sharp thorns.

"What is its name?" I asked.

"The Royal Christine rose," he answered sourly.

"I see. Hey, who takes care of your roses when you are traveling?"

"When I am called away for my work I normally leave the care of these beauties to Madame Roux, but I do not believe she loves them as I do," he smiled while haphazardly scratching his head.

"But you Gabrielle, have an eye for beauty, you could care for these in my absence."

"I once planted wildflowers in the front of my apartment in Chicago, but I've never had the spare time to devote to real gardening, I'm not sure I'm the person for the job, Erik."

"Of course you are, and now you have plenty of time too."

"So true…but if one your rose bushes croaked, I would die. I mean…your roses are so breathtakingly beautiful."

I stopped walking and stepped in front of Erik and claimed his lips for a brief kiss.

"They are but a reflection of the man who tends them."

Erik stroked my arm and contemplated me for a moment.

"Gabrielle, if true beauty still reside within this carcass of mine it is because one beautiful rose has nurtured its growth."

Erik's sweetness both flattered and humbled me. No appropriate words came to mind so I smiled up at him.

Eventually Erik slid his hand down my arm and held my hand in his, "Come, the weather is turning windy and cooler, let us return. We'll have a brandy and then I'll play you an aria from my new opera."

We walked back through the rose garden through the double doors that led into the back sun porch and up to Erik's music room.

He seated himself on the piano bench, shuffled through some sheet music and took a sip from his snifter.

"When is this work to be finished, Erik?"

"The Lyric's managers have contracted for it to be ready for production by August, three months."

"I see. Are you near completion then?" I draped myself over the chaise and pushed my slippers from my feet, letting them flop on the floor.

"Nearly, I have only this last bit to perfect and it will be finis."

Erik slid the music into place on the staff and began to play. I watched as the master and the music became one. Eventually, Erik ceased reading the music, he closed his eyes and began to dip and sway with the notes. His movements mirrored the emotional highs and lows of the character for which the piece was written.

When Erik finished, I was crying. I recognized the bitter sweet aria from his opera La Femme du Nord, the story of a man who falls in deeply in love with a woman he knows he cannot posses. In the end, the tables turn when she realizes she cannot go on without him, but it is too late, the man had moved beyond her siren's grip, leaving the poor woman heartbroken and alone.

Erik swiveled toward me on the piano bench. "There is still much to be done before the final composition can be submitted. I have decided to re-write the ending."

"Whatever you do, I'm sure it will be the right move."

"How can you be so certain, Gabrielle? You've not even heard the completed score."

"Trust me when I tell you that this opera will go down in history as one of your finest works, Erik."

As always whenever I hinted at the future, Erik responded with a mixed expression of curiosity and amusement.

That's how most of my days went at Dupuis Manor. Spring became summer and the days dawned warmer.

One particular hot afternoon Erik and I sat in the sunroom reading. I was not reading as much as lamenting not being able to go swimming, or if I did find a place to swim, I'd be required to wear one of those idiotic bathing suits worn by ladies of the 19th century.

"I mean, a woman could drown with all that material swirling around her body," I groused at Erik, who was attempting to read Le Figaro.

"It's not fair. It's hot. Fans are but a great idea and air-conditioning a good sixty or seventy years away, and I can't even dunk myself in cool water without putting on a clown costume! It's shit, I say!" I pounded the table once with my fist.

The rustling of crunching paper startled me. Erik threw down his newspaper with a hard sigh and said boisterously, "I fear I shall get no peace whatsoever until I can find a way to appease the fair Gabrielle!"

"Forgive me. I don't mean to be a pest, Erik. It's just that I must make one more compromise in adapting to your time. It's not so easy you know, well, I suppose you really don't do you?"

Erik's features softened as he looked at me sympathetically, "Go, dress for a ride, and wear whatever you like. I was hoping to take you on a picnic this afternoon; we might as well get to. I'll prepare a lunch for us."

I sat there staring at him.

"Well, go now to change into riding clothes. You do not wish to sit at this table all afternoon do you?"

"Yesss," I did a little happy dance then raced down the hall and up the stairs to my bedroom. I couldn't change into my jeans t-shirt and riding boots fast enough.

Erik packed some sort of picnic lunch, complete with wine, no doubt. We followed our usual route from the stable through the field and to the edge of the woods. Here, Erik choose a trail we had never taken before.

"Are we going on an adventure today?"

"Most definitely."

"Awesome, where?"

"Shush," he placed an index finger to his lips, "You'll see."

We trotted along through the lush June green following the trail for a good hour, when suddenly we approached the edge of a clearing.

Twenty feet from the edge of the woods there was a lake with sunlit ripples winking across its surface.

"Are we still on your property, Erik?"

"Yes. I hadn't given much thought to the lake until today. You may swim here if you like. My land continues beyond those trees on the other side for another five acres. Another property backs up to it. No living thing found in these woods will care about what you do or do not wear to swim in."

We dismounted and Erik removed the blanket and foodstuffs he'd brought along for our impromptu picnic.

"I love swimming in lakes and ponds. I can't tell you how many times I did this as a girl during the summer school break at my cousin's place in Wisconsin." I quickly shed my jeans and ran down to the lakes edge. "Are you going to join me?"

"Momentarily… Gabrielle," Erik shouted from the shore, where he was sitting on the blanket opening a bottle of wine. "Please be careful, the lake is very deep. Tell me you know how to swim well."

"Like a porpoise," I yelled in mid-dive from a rock into the lake.

The water was soothing. I swam underwater, burst upon the water's surface then swam to the opposite shore. The exhilaration of swimming hard had me winded. I floated on my back, luxuriating in the feel of the cool water on my back and the warm sunshine on my face.

Eventually I swam back to the shore and emerged dripping and happy. Erik followed me with his eyes as I walked up to where he sat on the blanket.

I stood before him and shook like a wet dog.

"You little minx," Erik grabbed a corner of my t-shirt and pulled me down on top of him.

"You think a little water bothers me, eh? I think not Mademoiselle!"

He rolled over and captured my wet body with his fully clothed dry one. He pinned my arms down over my head and I struggled and giggled in vain for him to have mercy on me.

Erik swallowed up my pleadings with his mouth. He kissed me with the longing of a man who had been at sea without women; deep and hot with passion. I responded with equal zest, surrendering to him with a sigh.

When we parted, the front of Erik's vest was soaked. "Make yourself comfortable Monsieur DuPuis. Shed some of those stuffy clothes, why don't 'cha?"

"A splendid idea, Mademoiselle," off came his vest and boots. He unbuttoned his lawn shirt but left on his riding breeches, which were mostly dry.

"We pasty people can use some vitamin S. Open your shirt and let the sunshine in Erik."

I removed my T-shirt and lie wet in my underwear, thoroughly enjoying the rays kissing my body. Both Erik and I were blessed with light olive skin, the kind that rarely burns and like everyone else in the 21st century, I was mindful of skin cancer, but for this moment in time, nothing else mattered but this rare pleasure.

"I thought women considered a lily white complexion the height of feminine beauty."

"Yes, so much so that my many of my 19th century sisters will die of quinine overdoses in their zeal to become ghostly pale."

"Perhaps I spent too much time among the dark skinned beauties of Persia, but I find too pale a woman rather sickly."

I always imagined his Christine as one of those milky-skinned maidens. But, like me, Scandinavian blood ran through her veins. Perhaps her family also hailed from the farm islands; those hearty folks with dark hair, eyes and olive skin who toiled in their sunlit fields were known as black Norwegians.

Erik stripped off his shirt and took the spot next to me. There, under the French sun we lay in serene silence, drinking up the sounds and scents of summer.

Erik's smooth voice pulled me from my cozy daze, "Gabrielle, you could be happy here could you not?"

"Um, I suppose I have to. Why do you ask, Erik?"

"If you had the choice to return to 2005, right now, would you?"

"Definitely."

Erik became silent. I turned my head to the side to look at him. He stared at the cloudless sky. He was sulking.

"But not without you." I lifted my face over his and stared into his clear jade eyes. "I could never go anywhere without the man I love." I punctuated my words with a kiss. Erik responded by wrapping his arms around me and holding me to his chest.

"I would follow you anywhere, Gabrielle."

We lay together for a long time; so long, I dozed in Erik's arms for a while. When I came to, Erik was humming a tune of some sort. I imagined him composing another masterpiece.

"Hey you," I rose to greet his eyes. "We ought to eat, don't you think?"

"Yes, one must I suppose."

We both sat up and began unwrapping the packages of bread and cheese Erik had packed. He poured the wine into glasses and handed one to me.

"I admire a man who remembers to bring along real wine glasses to a picnic."

Erik eyes me curiously, "Would you have us drink straight from the bottle?"

I giggled, "Not that it would bother me. I forget, in 2005, people often used plastic containers to drink from when they go on picnics and such. They make the wine taste funny."

"How terribly gauche."

We ate our delicious mid-day repast and sipped the exceptional Chenin Blanc that Erik had managed to keep cool by wrapping it in several rags.

For some reason, I felt self-conscious sitting in my bra and panties, and slipped back into my nearly dry t-shirt. Erik furrowed his brow, but made no comment.

"Gabrielle, I have something of supreme importance to ask you and I desire an honest answer."

I shifted on the blanket to face Erik so I could give him my full attention, "Of course, sweetheart, what's on your mind?"

He gazed out toward the water then continued nervously, "I-I'm not certain how to go about this. I have conjured many grandiose scenarios in my mind, none of which rang true. But then, many important endeavors seldom go as planned, do they, darling?"

"So true; where are you going with this? Is something bothering you Erik?" I became a little anxious.

Erik moved closer to me and took my hand, "Look into my eyes, Gabrielle. Do you believe me when I tell you I love you?"

"I do. Why else would you go to the lengths you have to help me, to make me comfortable and to befriend me? Men don't just do those things because they feel sorry for some fair maiden."

He flashed me a sincere smile, "You are my muse and my friend, my lover and my very conscience. Would you-ah, close your eyes Gabrielle and do not open them until I say so?"

While I sat in wonder with my eyes closed, I could hear him rummaging around in one of the saddle bags he'd brought to convey our picnic supplies.

"Hold out one of your pretty hands."

Eye still closed, I held out my right hand. Erik placed a small velvet bag into my open palm.

"You may now open your eyes."

When I did, I saw an anxious Erik. What could be making him so uncharacteristically off kilter?

I looked at the blue velvet bag and back to him.

"Go on, open it up…please."

I picked up the little bag and shook it slightly. Something small rattled around inside.

Because of a sudden bout of nervousness, it took some minutes to untie the small ribbon holding the bag closed. Finally, I freed the knot and dumped the contents into my hand.

There in my palm was a small ring of white gold set with a perfect oval ruby surrounded by diamonds.

I think my mouth dropped open, at least I felt it had. I could not utter a single sound.

Erik was now kneeling on one knee. He swallowed hard, took both of my hands in his and said somberly, "Gabrielle, I wish to make you my wife. Would you have me as your husband?

What I mean to say is; will you marry me Mademoiselle Thomassen?"

**- O -**

_OMG, could it be? (Marilyn knew) _

_Thank you for taking the time to drop me a review. _

_As always, a big THANK YOU for Amy, my wonderful beta! _

_-Leesainthesky _


	40. Ch 40 Oui ou Non ?

**_Dear readers, this chapter is especially for those of you who wrote in your reviews you wanted a swift update. Here you go...thank you for reviewing my work. _**

**_You rock._**

**Re-cap: Erik proposes…**

**Ch 40 - Oui ou Non ?**

_Someone pinch me, please._

My mind insisted I was dreaming.

Here I was, two weeks shy of being in this century for a full year, sitting upon a quilt by a French lake, having a picnic with a famous composer and nefarious nineteenth century legend. …and he proposes.

Never in my wildest imaginings did I expect _this_ from Erik.

I knew in my heart of hearts that I would not be returning to the 21st century and was struggling to make peace with my new reality. I had dated many men before, yet none of those contemporary admirers compared to my enigmatic Victorian lover.

Sunlight danced upon the facets of the ruby and diamonds stones, causing the ring to glisten in my hand. I felt as though every butterfly in the meadow now fluttered inside my stomach.

I longed to say yes.

"Erik, this ring—it's all so unexpected. You do know that I love you, right?"

"Yes, darling, and I love you too, now, about my proposal; you've not answered me, Gabrielle."

I pulled back to meet his inquisitive stare, "Now? Oh, god Erik, this is all so sudden. I don't know…"

Erik closed his eyes against my words, his lips drawing into a thin line. He looked crestfallen.

I sat back on my heels to better meet his gaze, "Listen sweetheart I'm not saying no to you, not at all, I'm simply surprised."

Erik opened his eyes and narrowed them at me the way a wary animal does when it's not sure if it can trust you.

We sat frozen in our places on the well worn quilt, scrutinizing one another.

I chuckled nervously, "You want me as a wife? You sure are brave now aren't you?"

"Whatever do you mean? I have lived my entire life without a wife; I consider the decision to marry a monumental one. You are more than any man could ever wish for in a mate, why, you are my lover and companion. It is not a frivolous proposition that I now make to you, Gabrielle."

"I know that, Erik. Are you certain you want to handle living with my idiosyncrasies? Be honest."

"Your idiosyncrasies? I must admit to being rather outré myself. No Gabrielle, I will not allow the differences between our unique personalities to keep me from true beauty and happiness. I have braved perils more daunting than you, darling. For goodness sakes woman, I bought you a ring did I not? So what will it be, yes or no?"

Adrenaline obeyed my body's signals. My palms were moist and my breathing became shallow. I knew how I _felt_; it was rationality that struggled to surface through the deluge of emotion within my brain

"Erik, I'm wise enough to figure out that I won't be visiting 2005 again anytime soon. If I must be stuck in this frighteningly strange century, I wish to do so only with you. So—in answer to your offer of marriage…yes, Erik, definitely." I whispered behind a teary smile.

Erik smiled the sweetest smile I'd ever seen a man smile. It affected his entire face from his perfect teeth to the corners of his luminous jade eyes.

He reached out to stroke my hair so gently, it was as if he was afraid I might disappear.

I smiled at him then lowered my lashes to the ring in my quivering hand. I thrust my open palm toward him, "Here, please put it on me, Erik."

Erik stared blankly; his face bore a mixture of bewilderment and fear.

"I've given you an affirmative answer, I'll take that exquisite ring now," I cajoled.

Erik blinked as if a switch had flipped inside his head, "Yes, of course. Where are my manners?" He plucked the ring from my palm and I presented my left hand to him.

"Your other hand, dear."

"Isn't it supposed to be on my left hand?"

"Engaged women wear their rings on their right hand until they are properly wed."

"Oh, I did not know that, must be a French thing huh?"

Erik took the white gold band and slipped it on my right ring finger.

I admired the revered symbol with awe, "This is the most exquisite ring. But Erik, how did you know what size I wore?"

He shrugged, "Simple really. I found the ring that other man gave you, traced the circumference and passed that information to the jeweler."

"You are so sneaky! Erik, I do love you so."

I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him voraciously. Joyful tears trickled down my cheeks.

I swallowed him up in a flurry of hugs and kisses, toppling him over on the blanket.

Erik laughed and reciprocated my joy by rolling on top of me, still laughing he said, "Gabrielle, I am dreaming am I not?"

"No Monsieur, this woman beneath you is your future bride."

He claimed my mouth with his, kissing me slowly with a silky sensuality that left me breathless. If this were my last day on earth, I would have passed away in a glorious cloud of bliss.

After a while, when our tongues began to cramp from the relentless kissing, we broke contact and stared into each other's eyes like love crazed kids.

"How long does one wait in this century for the nuptials," I asked.

"First, I will need to procure a marriage license, and then arrange for someone to officiate. I would prefer not to wait to terribly long, however completion of my opera for the Lyric is paramount; with that out of the way, there will be nothing left to come between the two of us."

"The opera is due Augusts' end so we're talking sometime in September. That's not too soon is it? September is a lovely month, still warm but not sweltering and the skies are the purest shade of blue."

"September it shall be; say, the third Saturday morning? That should allow for ample time to prepare."

I shook my head yes enthusiastically.

"You'll require a gown, you know."

"You better believe I do-a white one too. Don't look at me that way you ornery man. It's been a long time since I've been with anyone, that other man and I, we never got to the make-up in bed stage of our re-kindled relationship before I ended up in Victoria-Ville."

"Such a pity for him."

"You know Erik; I've never been with a man in _this_ century. You will be my first and only, so I can wear virginal white after all."

Erik raised his eyebrows and cast me a wry smile, "True, but it matters not to me Gabrielle, I know you are a virtuous and faithful woman. And soon you will be mine."

"Erik; I am yours now."

He rolled into the sitting position and removed his ridding breeches. Would you like to indulge me in a swim, darling?"

"Why not," I removed my t-shirt, tossed it on the blanket and stood on wobbly legs. I needed an outlet for my newly found nervous energy. "Race ya to the water," I challenged.

"Bah, no contest Mademoiselle."

"It is if I get a head start." Off I ran ahead of Erik to the lake. Three quarters of the way down the bank, he caught up with me, grabbed me around the waist and carried me to the water's edge, where he tossed me in.

I swam beneath the surface where he couldn't see me and held my breath, a talent perfected from playing water games with my brother back in Chicago.

I could barley hear Erik calling for me. As stealthy as possible, I glided along beneath the lake's surface until I could see his torso. He was still wearing his underwear and I got an eyeful of his fine rump.

Quick as a water moccasin I struck, wrapping my arms about his legs and making his knees buckle. I heard him yell out in surprise. It was all I could do not to laugh and inhale a mouth full of lake water. When I popped up to the surface, Erik's face was red with embarrassment or anger; I'm not sure which because at that point all bets were off.

He shouted gruffly, "Gabrielle, you frightened the living daylights from me. Do no ever do that again, do you hear me?"

God help me, but I could not stop laughing, he lunged at me with the look of a man possessed and I knew I was in for some type of torture so I began to swim away as fast as I could.

Four or five strokes into my retreat Erik grabbed my ankles. He pulled me into his arms tightly, "You shall pay for your insolence." My bra was swiftly un-hooked and tossed out into the water.

"Hey, I only have two of those and they're scarce to come by in the 19th century, you know!"

"Then you will learn to live without them, I like you better this way."

"Erik, you bugger. Go fetch my..." Erik cut off my words by burying his tongue in my mouth. He held me against him with one hand and stroked my breast with the other. I felt his sex come to life against my abdomen.

As usual, I abandoned my will to him and reciprocated the kiss. Erik is not a man one can say no to easily.

We bobbed along toward the shore and collapsed on the grassy bank where we continued kissing and peeling the wet underwear from each other's body.

"That was an easy task," Erik murmured while continuing his assault on my lips.

"You're incorrigible."

"Your actions speak of your disgust, darling."

"Um yes, please Erik, show me how much more disgusting you can be."

For then next hour Erik and I satiated each other in every possible manner of foreplay our minds could conjure. The shadows from the trees told us we were two hours from sun set and in the woods, darkness would come earlier still.

Already dry from being out of the water a while, we re-dressed, packed up and made our way back to the manor.

Once on the other side of the woods, the setting sun cast a fiery glow over the tall grass, wildflowers and tree tops in the meadow. Birds called out to their mates from different trees, signaling them to return to the nest before darkness came.

Jostling easily atop out mounts, Erik and I took our time ridding back. A comfortable silence rested between us.

"Tomorrow is my birthday. I'd nearly forgotten about it," I said with a terse laugh.

"Is it a day for celebration in your home, Gabrielle?"

"Normally, my family makes a big deal out of birthdays. Family and friends come to my house, or we go out to eat at a nice restaurant, I get presents and they make me wear a phony tiara because it's my day to be a princess, childish huh?"

"No, I suppose not, it sounds as if you have a loving family. No wonder you miss them so Gabrielle, I wish more than anything that I could find a way to erase your pain."

"You do Erik," I smiled and blew a kiss at him.

"I remember how you told me about your dismal childhood. I think it's terrible not to celebrate a little boy's birthday. For that matter, it's a crime not to celebrate a big boy's birthday. Erik, have you any inkling when yours might be?"

"I am not certain why, but I have the impression that it is in early summer, so it may already have passed. I do not relish the day I was born, Gabrielle."

"I do. Without you, I would be lost, dead, or at the very least without the love of my life. I'm glad you were born, Erik.

"For all we know, you and I share the same exact birth date. It is possible you know. Hey, I have an idea. Tomorrow I'll bake us a cake and sing this horrible little birthday song to you. No presents, nothing big, just an acknowledgement that we were born. I think I need that Erik, please say you'll play along with me?"

"My birthday is not important, Gabrielle."

"Well _mine_ is and if you don't let me celebrate your birth, than I can't celebrate mine. Oh please, for me?"

Erik sighed loudly, "Only for you, Gabrielle my love."

"Thank you; you're a prince of a man."

"Dear lord, you're not thinking of making me wear a tiara are you?"

"What? Oh that! Humm, not a bad idea."

"It is a _very_ bad idea."

"Both of us could wear one, we are after all rulers of our domicile are we not?"

"You really are a bit nutty aren't you dear?"

"I warned you, but you can't have the ring back."

I spurned Anjalia into a gallop for the remainder of the ride back to DuPuis Manor.

While we were in the tack room hanging up the various pieces of equipment, Erik turned to me. "Embarrassed though I am at my uncharacteristic forwardness, I cannot erase the memory of the day I kissed you here in the hay."

"Kissed? Unless my memory is faulty, you were gunning for more than a kiss dear Erik," I smiled as I teased him about the day he so boldly assaulted my lips and body in the tack room.

Erik blushed, "Forgive me, Gabrielle, being ignorant of how one deals with affection, I can be a boorish fool."

"There was never anything to forgive, Erik."

I hugged him from behind and rested my head against his back, taking in the smells of fresh air, hay, cedar and spices. He placed his hands on mine.

"Gabrielle, that day here in this room-it was the first time I'd ever touched a woman in the way that I touched you. I simply could not stop myself from exploring you. When my fingers discovered the silky wet flesh between your legs, I thought I might well die from the sensation." The recollection made Erik's voice thick with desire.

"Why, the very idea that a woman would ever allow me such liberties, I was overwhelmed with base lust and emotion. And your ready response to me fanned my fire into a raging inferno. Little did I know it was love that dared thaw my frozen heart. I cannot imagine my life without you."

He released my hands and turned to face me.

"Erik, mon bel homme," I said as I placed my hands on both sides of his face and looked into the jade green depths of his eyes. You are so masculine, so intoxicating you're very essence overwhelms me. Being here in this time, it is my destiny-you are my destiny, Erik."

Our embrace was interrupted by the sound of someone creeping about behind us.

I started, Erik calmly turned toward the sound. "Good evening Henri, I thought you to have retired for the evening."

"Pardon my intrusion, Monsieur DuPuis, I heard noise in the stable and figured you had returned from your long ride and you may be in need of assistance putting away the tack and hot walking your mounts."

I waved a hand at him, "Not to worry Henri, Erik and I have already taken care of those things. I hope we didn't disturb you and Marie by making too much."

Henri's eyes focused to the ring on my finger. "No Madame, we had not yet retired for the night. Ah, I cannot ignore the ring on your finger, Madame Gabrielle. I dare to be presumptuous when I say that we have something to celebrate."

Erik eyed the older man calmly, "Indeed Monsieur, the lady has accepted my proposal. He let his hand rest on my back as he spoke.

"Splendid! I told you that she would you know."

My eyes grew wide in amazement. "Henri, you _knew_ that Erik planned to propose to me?"

"Aye, Madame."

"You see darling, Henri is a man of experience in such matters, he and Madame Roux have been together twenty five years now…"

"…Mostly happy ones, I might add," interrupted Henri.

"…And I know the man to keep his secrets," Erik added.

Henri walked across the straw strewn floor and extended his hand to Erik, "A hearty congratulations to you my good man, and Madame Gabrielle, he bowed. You two will wear the cloak of matrimony well. Wait until Marie hears the good news, she will be ecstatic; women love a wedding you know."

"Henri, there are only a few people I consider worthy of my time and Gabrielle knows very few people here. Please exercise caution in telling Marie lest you get your dear wife's hopes up for a substantial affair."

"Curious as to what Erik envisioned for us, I glanced up at him, "I want whatever you want Erik, but tell me, what sort of ceremony do you envision for us?"

Looking down at me, he smiled sweetly, "My darling, I hope you will not be chagrinned if we say our vows here at my manor. We will of course secure a priest or judge to officiate over the nuptials. And I shall require help securing identification papers for you."

Erik could not go into detail in front of M.Roux, but I knew he was hinting at the need to forge some sort of documentation declaring me a citizen of some legitimate place in 1877.

"Honestly Erik, I don't care if one of these horses officiates for us as long as it's legitimate and legal. Perhaps we could have a brief ceremony in the rose garden. It will still be in full bloom in early September. Oh it is so beautiful there, could we?"

Erik nodded his approval. "I'd never given the idea considered, but, why not? If it pleases you darling, then I too am pleased."

"Of course Henri and Marie will be here, they can stand up for us and we can invite Caron and maybe even your friends from Paris, Monsieur Khan, and the Giry's too." I said enthusiastically.

"Steady Madame, you're frightening your future husband, chuckled Monsieur Roux."

Erik did appear slightly befuddled.

"Forgive me, Erik, it's just that…well, I'm beside myself with happiness. It would be nice to have the few people in the world you trust and like to share the day with us."

"I shall consider the idea Gabrielle." He faced Henri, "Monsieur Roux, don't worry about the horses, Gabrielle and I will care for them tonight. Go, tell your wife of my good fortune," he chuckled.

The men bowed to each other, and then Monsieur Roux left the stable for his cottage. He had an earful of news for Marie.

Most nights Erik and I slept in our separate bedrooms, as was the norm among well-heeled Victorian era folks. Most nights Erik toiled in his study or music room until the morning light. I cherished the times when we loved each other into the night, falling asleep and waking up together in his massive bed. When we married, I would insist on sleeping there always.

Having said yes, to Erik's proposal of marriage, enticing him was an easy task. Our night was spent in his bed, pleasuring one another, and, after the long day of swimming and horseback ridding, sleeping."

**- O -**

_**This story is far from over. Please send me your comments and reviews. Thanks to the fabulous Amy, my beta—Leesainthesky**_

oui ou non means yes or no.

mon bel home means my beautiful man.


	41. Ch 41 Birthday Firsts

_I love you people, your reviews are encouraging, helpful and amusing. Thank you. Kudos to Amy the beautiful beta for her assistance too. _

–_Lesainthesky_

**Re-cap: Gabrielle says yes to Erik's proposal, they celebrate their respective birthdays.**

**Ch 41 Birthday Firsts**

Dinner went smoothly, considering it was my first birthday in the 19th century and Erik's only birthday celebration—ever. Marie refused to allow me to serve our meal, taking it upon herself to wait on us. Henri caught us up on the latest goings on of his three offspring and I shared some of the details from our trip to London.

Erik remained quiet through most of the meal. Occasionally he would nod in agreement with a particular piece of conversation or interject a brief comment.

His primary focus tonight was gastronomical in nature, because he requested a second helping of the entree, a rare occurrence, for he was normally a most conservative eater.

"Dinner is superb as always, dear. Madame Roux, would you mind terribly fetching me another serving?" Erik asked.

"Delicious," Henri concurred.

"Thank you gentleman, now do eat up, I'd hate to see this hard work and fine food go to waste."

"In that case, another for me too, Mother."

Marie raised her eyebrows at Henri as if to suggest that he didn't need another serving. She rose to prepare another plate for Erik.

Henri blatantly ignored his wife's chiding, and turned toward Erik. "Will you be hiring a new cook when you and Madame Gabrielle are wed Monsieur DuPuis?"

"I suppose I should consider it."

"But why? I enjoy cooking for all of you. It's no bother really," I said addressing Erik.

"You would be hard pressed to find one to match her fine talents," Henri waved his fork toward me.

Marie swatted her husband for using his utensil as a pointer and begrudgingly set another helping of food in front of him.

"But Henri, Gabrielle will be the lady of this manor. It would not be proper for her to carry on her servitude."

Erik leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest, allowing Marie room to place the new dish of food in front of him.

"Excuse me...do I have a say in any of this?"

"Most certainly, darling."

"Erik, I see no reason to hire anyone else. You know how much I enjoy cooking for all of you. I think I would be bored with having nothing productive to do."

"My dear girl, you'll soon discover the role of wife and mother to be work enough," Marie counseled.

The word "mother" struck me like cold lightning. I hadn't had much time between yesterday's proposal and now to consider the possibility of motherhood.

Erik had never mentioned the desire to sire a child. It was a subject that needed broaching...soon.

I snuck a glance at Erik. His calm facade betrayed the surprise that shone in his eyes, evident to only me. Had he forgotten where babies come from? We would have a serious talk about the joys of parenthood.

Excusing myself from the table, I retreated to the kitchen for the birthday cake. I'd managed to scrounge up two small candles and had pushed them into the cake's thick icing. I lit them with a kitchen match and walked back into the dining room singing a snappy _a cappella_ version of the Happy Birthday song.

At first Erik's face reflected dread, but when he heard me singing the silly little song, his expression morphed into one of bemusement.

I sat the cake within Erik's reach, then stood beside him and rested my hand on his shoulder lightly.

"One candle is for your birthday and the other one is for mine."

I addressed the Roux's, "It is my pleasure to share the anniversary of my birth with all of you; more importantly it is a privilege to be sharing Erik's first official birthday celebration with you."

"It is our supreme pleasure on both accounts, Madame," Henri bowed his head politely as Marie looked on smiling.

Erik eyeballed the cake with the burning candles, and then looked back up to me, "So...what do we do now? Those candles will melt and ruin your cake you know."

"Yes, they will, that is why you must make a wish and blow them out. I'll allow you the honor since I've celebrated my birthday every year for the past 29."

Erik cleared his throat and considered the cake. He shrugged his shoulders and leaned in to blow out the candles.

"Make a wish while you do it, Erik."

He regarded me with a look that communicated how absurd he considered all of this birthday nonsense.

"We can all use a little luck, right?" I grinned.

Erik gave a hearty blow to the candles, rendering them flameless.

"Very good, darling," I applauded.

He looked somewhat embarrassed

"Hey, at least I'm not insisting you wear a tiara," I whispered in his ear.

"Pardon me, a tiara?" said Marie. The woman had the ears of an elephant.

"Some nonsense of Gabrielle's," Erik waved his hand as if shooing away a bug.

"So, what did you wish for?"

"It is a secret," Erik whispered, his voice cloaked in mystery.

_What would a man like Erik would wish for,_ I wondered. Something either lurid or macabre I was sure.

I tossed my head indifferently, "Fine, keep it to yourself then, see if I care."

The Roux's must have done some clandestine shopping that morning. Marie excused herself from the table, only to return in a moment with two smallish parcels in tow. They gifted Erik with a new set of fine nibs for his pens and a book for me.

Upon receiving the nibs, which were wrapped in colorful tissue paper, Erik uttered a polite thank you to the Roux's. It was hard for him to say much more as there were tears in his eyes.

I too offered gracious thanks to the couple for my book, _The Bride's Guide to Proper Household Etiquette_.

"Caron was given this book before she wed. She claims it has been invaluable to her as a new bride. I realize you have been married before, but I think you will find the tips useful," said Marie.

And you figured someone like me needs proper instruction, am I right?" I joked.

"Oh, no! I did not mean to insult you, dear. I thought you might find the book informative. It has been a few years since you were a married woman and now you are in a new country. We do things differently in France you know," Marie scrambled to justify her choice of reading material.

"No offense taken Marie, and thank you for your thoughtful gift, but I am curious; are there any books for men as well, you know for the new husband?"

By her blank expression, I knew there probably were not.

"That I do not know, but it is the woman's place to make a welcoming home for her husband, a task requiring special skills and attitude don't you think, dear?"

"Absolutely!" quipped Erik.

I shot him a look, which I hoped he interpreted correctly. "Behave or I'll not let you have any birthday cake."

"I challenge you to refuse me a piece."

I cut him a rather healthy slice of the chocolate dessert. "I would never be so cruel. Here my love, Happy Birthday."

Everyone enjoyed their cake and coffee and seemed pleasantly stuffed and ready for a nap or a walk, depending on which bodily proclivity was the most insistent.

Marie, bless her heart, shooed me off from kitchen duty. "It is your first birthday here at the manor, I want you to rest and enjoy it, so please retire to the salon, or music room with your fiancé and leave me to care for the cleaning, Gabrielle."

"Are you sure, Marie? I don't want to take advantage of you."

"Make no mistake; my wife is not one to let others take advantage of her. Run along dear. May you both have a Happy Birthday," Henri said shooing us away by closing the pocket doors from the dining room into the main hallway after us.

"Well, I get their message loud and clear," I laughed lightly, looking up at my betrothed.

Erik took my right hand in both of his, "Now, my love, what does one do on their birthday?"

"Well...we could take a pre-sunset walk in the garden to allow our food to digest, then you can beat me in a game of chess, or play music, or any other endeavor that a man and a woman would find pleasurable," I smiled innocently.

He peered down at me and questioned my inference by raising one dark brow, "Something that a man and a woman might find pleasurable? What do you suggest darling?"

"Let's take our little walk in the garden and ponder the answer while we stroll," I suggested.

The June evening was fair and warm with the exotic scent of newly bloomed night jasmine perfuming the air. We walked for a while, then sat down on one of the gardens iron benches and quietly enjoyed the setting sun.

The various shades of sunlight reflecting off the wisps of clouds mesmerized me with their ethereal beauty. An aura of gold kissed the treetops, morphing into purples, oranges and pinks, eventually blending into strips of aqua and lapis.

I sighed, "This is so peaceful here, as if nothing else existed in the world but God's beauty and the two of us."

"If only that were true, my love," Erik added wistfully, "Never again would we worry about trivial prejudices and unfair sorrows."

He hooked an arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. I savored his touch...hell; I savored nearly everything about Erik, his stature and cool demeanor, his silky voice and way he looked at me with those incandescent jade eyes.

The man worked my last nerve.

The sun disappeared over the horizon revealing Venus in the eastern sky. With no street-lights around, the garden was pitch black. We decided to retire to the house, using the gas light from the sunroom windows as our guide.

I breached the easy silence between us, "Erik?"

"Yes love?"

"Have you ever wanted children?" _That's good Gab; just blurt it out._

He paused to gather his thoughts, "Hum, well, I suppose not. Women do not usually mate with monsters."

I nudged him with my elbow, "Stop that, you are _not_ a monster!"

"Gabrielle, most women who have seen my face either faint or run screaming. Rape never appealed to me so, the answer to your question is, no. Besides, what if I were to pass my hideous deformity on to an innocent babe? That would surely seal my fate to hell."

We'd reached the rear entrance to the sunroom. I stopped Erik before he could open the door and reached for both of his hands. "Sweetheart, I am not a doctor of genetic medicine, but I would wager your deformity is a result of something your mother ingested while you were in her womb. Visible birth defects are not typically genetic; you cannot pass it on to your offspring. While I do understand your fears, they are not mine."

Erik averted his eyes and stared at the door handle looking forlorn.

I placed my free hand on his chin and gently guided his head up so he had to meet my eyes.

"If and when you and I create a child together and if that child bears a disfigurement, I know beyond all doubt that our little one will be loved and taken care of like a little prince or princess. No, we are not perfect, as great as my own father was, or _is_, no parent is perfect. Erik, we will be amazing parents. We will instill within our child a keen sense of self worth, and _no one_ will taunt them without facing a wrath of monumental proportions."

Erik stared into my eyes with a resolute intensity, "Without question."

I gave his hands a reassuring squeeze and nodded, "Without question."

His chin trembled ever so slightly and I could tell he was fighting back tears. "Gabrielle, I do love you so."

"Ditto, Erik." I smiled and hugged him as tightly as my arms were able.

After the past disasters in the relationship arena, I was wary of letting another man into my heart or my body, but Erik was—different. The image of our naked bodies sealed together in the act of making love encroached on my sleep nightly. My endless longing evolved past mere animalistic urges, they embodied a deep need to connect on every level with Erik.

_He must feel the same or he would not have proposed to me_, I reasoned.

I needed him, and I wanted him—now.

My nerves came alive with the fear of rejection. I felt a bit like a tart, wanting to bed him before we wed. But he and I were not like other couples. We were soul mates and I knew in my heart that there would never be another man for me.

I swallowed hard and stood on my toes to whisper in his ear.

"Erik, I want—I want to make love to you tonight. We're engaged now, we've waited long enough.

- O -

_Hummmmmmm_……

_Please, when you read the chapters, continue to drop me a review (unsigned or signed, I don't care). _

–_Leesa_


	42. Ch 42 Erik's Prerogative

_Hello and Happy Thanksgiving weekend if you celebrated. I'd hoped to have this chapter up days ago, but it didn't work out that way. My beta's been busy (we all have) so if there are terrible typos and grammar goof–ups, forgive me, dear readers. **WARNING: This is a very mature chapter**. Enjoy it, I know Erik will—Leesa_

**Re-cap: Erik and Gabrielle celebrate their respective birthdays and broach the subject of making love.**

**Ch-42 Erik's Prerogative**

Erik opens the door to the sunroom, allowing me to enter before him, and then closes the door to the night. He crosses the room to raise the flame on the lamp, sits down, and pats the place next to him on the settee.

I sit in the assigned spot, smooth out my skirt, fold my hands in my lap and begin to pick nervously at my cuticles.

_Say something please_! My mind screams.

Erik reaches over, pulls my hands apart and takes one of them in his. I glance at his face and he flashes me a warm smile. "So Gabrielle, you wish to make love to me do you?"

_My insides turn to jelly._

"'Yes," I whisper hoarsely.

"Is this something you choose to do for _me_ or for yourself?"

"Both, really." _Why are you torturing me with your questions?_

He brushes an errant strand of hair from my face and cockes his head as if trying to discern what is bobbing about in my mind.

"Humm, "He nods thoughtfully. "Gabrielle, do you think it proper for us to consummate our relationship before we are properly wed?"

"Um, well sure—but only if you do." _Since when did he become the etiquette police?_

"To me, that is a promise stronger than the very ring on your finger. If I take you tonight, we will be bound together forever. Do you truly want that?"

I roll my eyes heavenward and sigh in exasperation. "Erik, I would not have said yes to your proposal yesterday if I didn't want you. You think I'm a tart don't you? Is it so wrong for me to desire you as much as I do? I love you. Stop torturing me."

"Oh Gabrielle, am I torturing you? My apologies dear, I need to be sure this is what you want. That_ I _am what you want."

"You are _all_ I want, Erik. Damn it man, what do I have to do? Please, don't allow your legitimate distrust of the human race to color your opinion of me. I am sincere about my intentions. Oh crap, I feel so stupid now...forget I said anything." _I wish could rewind the past few moments._

"My love, I don't mean to make light of your longings. Every night it seems I dream of you, of us. I envision the two of us sealed together in the most torrent lovemaking a man can fathom. In my dream, I feel you from the inside. Make no mistake, my need for you is great, Gabrielle. And no, I do not think you are a tart. You are a passionate woman, and as unfathomable as it seems to me, I know you love me."

"Yep, I do."

Erik swivels around on the settee to face me full on. He grasps both of my shoulders and scans my face for hidden signals.

I lift my eyes to meet his in hopes that he can see sincerity in my gaze.

"Gabrielle, you know I have never been with a woman. I hope I will not disappointment you."

"Doubtful," I snort. "Why, your very blood is infused with passion, Erik. You're a master at foreplay and you improvise quite well, from here on out, it's a matter of simple just mechanics."

I nearly giggle at Erik's expression of self-gratification. He slides his right hand down my arm and traces his fingers lightly over the back of my hand.

"Gabrielle, promise yourself to me for eternity, swear you'll not regret giving yourself to me tonight." Erik's eyes glow with scorching intensity.

I met his gaze and punctuate my position by leaning in closer, "Erik DuPuis, I have never been surer of myself than I am now. I pledge myself to you in every way a woman can offer herself to a man. Got it?"

Erik's face flushes with affection and he offers me a most endearing smile.

"Then my dear, tell me, what do we don now?"

"Not that I am an expert—a female Don Juan or anything," I blush. "But I suppose you could open a bottle of wine, light some candles, undress, put on one of your silk robes and wait for me in your bed chamber while I change into something more suitable. Oh yes, and remove your mask."

I knew I was treading on delicate ground and cringed inwardly at this suggestion.

"No, Gabrielle. I cannot bear to have you look at my abhorrent face as while I make love to you."

"Erik, I love _all_ of you. If I allow you to claim my body, the least you can do is surrender that mask. You know your face does not freak me out in the least."

"No."

"Erik, please?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Then no nookie."

"What?"

"You heard me, remove the mask, or no nookie, no booty, no sex, nada."

"Madame, that is outright blackmail!"

"Sure is."

"You're being stubborn and irrelevant."

"Me? I'm trying to communicate to you that I, Gabrielle Thomassen of the 21st century, prefer touching, kissing and seeing my lover's face to that bit of hard leather."

"You truly don't care do you? Astounding. I shall take the matter into consideration."

"Well, that will at least earn you second base..."

"What are you going on about now?"

"It's a baseball analogy; first base is kissing, second base is what we call touching the ta ta's—breasts, that is. Third base is below the navel and a home run is, well, you're a smart man, you can figure it out."

"Sounds rather juvenile."

"Quite, it's a school yard saying."

"I see."

Erik is stands and offers his hands to help me up. He pulls me into a heartfelt embrace.

"Gabrielle, I care for you in ways I never thought I could care for another person. I want you as my mate; I want you as my lover. If you are ready to consummate our love, than so be it my darling."

I nod my consent and surrender to Erik's kiss.

We separate and address each other with a smile some would call shy. Erik immediately straightens to his full height and once again is his masterful self.

"Now then, let's prepare for the remainder of our evening. I'll make a trip to the wine cellar; you do whatever it is women do. I shall be waiting for you in my bedroom. That is, unless you change your mind."

"Ha, not a chance mister," I toss him a saucy smile and progress to my boudoir.

And so here I am, in my bedroom, preparing myself to seduce and have sex with Erik Dupuis, 19th century composer, famous architect and, the infamous Phantom of the Paris Opera. I am as nervous as a virgin on prom night.

I check my reflection in the mirror. Make up and hair is still good; like most men, Erik likes hair loose and flowing. I grab the tooth powder by my pitcher and water bowl and do a quick brushing. Now, what piece of lingerie best suits this monumental occasion?

I have a choice of three sexy outfits from my New York trip. I open the bureau drawer; let's see there is the red mesh one; too slutty, a baby pink one; too innocent; and a black lace number for...well, anything. Black it is, I decide. I think it could be Erik's favorite color anyway.

Off go the dress, corset chemise and bloomers. On go the sheer black lace top with matching panties. It's cut low in the front and hugs my curves wonderfully, especially my breasts. Okay, I need a spritz of my favorite perfume, and dab of sheer pink lip-gloss.

I then slip into a black silk robe Erik gave me when I first came to live here...black silk for the hired help? That small detail should have tipped me off about his intentions.

_Okay Gab, deep breaths, calm down, he is not the big bad wolf and you are not little red ridding hood. He's the virgin, not you._

Oh, damn, what time of month is it? Four days after my last cycle. Good, although there is a value pack sized box of Trojan's in Tony's unpacked luggage. I'll save those for later.

I open my door and walk into the hall. The trek to Erik's room seems longer than usual. Indeed, I am hot for him, but also nervous. Erik matters more to me than anyone I've ever known. I sincerely hope he is not disappointed with me.

All that stands between my lover and me now is a thick, dark hardwood door.

I rap lightly to announce my arrival. Erik's rich honeyed voice tells me to enter. I open the door slowly. He is standing next to the large bedside table and pouring a glass of red wine that he holds for me to take.

"Merci," I say, and then toss back a most un-lady-like gulp when he turns to pour a glass for himself.

Erik faces me again and I notice how his eyes twinkle. Seeing the white mask still in place on his right side is disheartening, but I decide not to press the matter.

We stand sipping our wine and eyeing one another curiously. I survey his room.

Many fragrant candles burn from nearly every tabletop, and I notice Erik has turned back the bedclothes and strewn pink rose pedals over the silken sheets.

I can sense Erik's nervousness. He approaches me and reaches out to touch my cheek. His fingers flutter lightly to the tip of my chin. He places a soft kiss on my lips and suggests we get comfortable.

When we hook arms, the shoulder of my gold and black lace robe slips down, exposing flesh. Erik pauses, I think he is going to kiss my shoulder; instead he growls and bites me, his jade eyes blazing with desire. I swat him playfully and pull away to pop onto his bed.

Sitting on his enormous bed, we talk about nothing—the weather, the wine, the food, music, etc.

Finally, he removes the wine glass from my hand and puts it on the bedside table next to his.

I take note of his appearance. Erik is amazingly well kept for a middle age man from the 19th century, but then Erik is a very active man who has kept away from the suns aging rays for so long, he looks years younger than most men of his age do. Erik is no apparition; he is a living, breathing healthy male who, up to this point, has managed to stay chaste.

Although his manners paint him as a refined Frenchman, I suspected a wild and untamed spirit lurks below the surface of his cool veneer.

Erik places an arm around me and urges me toward him. Sensuous warm lips slant over mine. Softly, slowly, Erik kisses me, he slips his tongue between my lips and I readily open up for him. His kisses are nothing short of mesmerizing. Our tongues swirl around in a silent cadence only the two of us hear.

He sighs deeply against my mouth and wraps his arms around me. I reciprocate, caressing his well-muscled arms through the smooth silk of his robe. Stealthy hands find their way to my breasts. He draws circles around my nipples with his graceful fingers, occasionally pinching them lightly. I whimper and brake free of his mouth to lick and nibble on the sensitive areas of his neck and earlobe.

"Gabrielle, "Erik moans; then he pushes me from him.

"What Erik; is something wrong?"

"Stand up," he orders in his dark velvet voice.

I do as I'm told and stand before him while he remains sitting up on the bed.

"Remove your robe."

Oh, we're playing this game. Obediently I shrug the lightweight garment from my shoulders. It slips to the floor. I feel naked standing before Erik in all my black-laced glory.

Erik takes a long drink of me. I imagine him running through his mind all the naughty things that we can do to one another.

"Good heavens, Gabrielle, you're beautiful."

Men have called me pretty before, even striking, but no one has ever called me beautiful.

"Come Gabrielle, I need to touch you," Erik demands.

Silently I approach him. "What's your pleasure Monsieur?" I ask coyly.

Erik rewards me with smile that speaks volumes of his intent to ravish me.

He runs his long fingers along the lace top, slowing at my nipples. The black satin laces of my top get untied by my lover who is delighted to have an unobstructed full view of my breasts.

Eventually his fingers find their way to the lace between my legs. Using the back of his hand, he urges me to open my thighs. I step out enough for him to slip his fingers between my upper thighs. With one long, slow move, he strokes me from back to front three times, his eyes never leave mine."

"You are most damp, Gabrielle. Is it possible you desire me, my love?" he croons.

I close my eyes and bite my lower lip, "Erik, you're making me insane."

"Good."

I move to get on the bed.

"Stay put," Erik's voice is gruff and demanding.

I oblige and he continues his teasing touch, that roguish smirk I so love never leaving his lips. He slips his hand into my black lace thong and fingers the soft, moist skin between my legs. Mon Diue woman, you are literally drenched."

He bends forward and covers one of my nipples with his hot mouth. He nuzzles at it, nipping and sucking hard. My nipples are extremely sensitive and what he is doing is more than I can take. I push his head away.

"What is it Gabrielle? Do you not like me to do that?"

"Oh I like it alright, it's just so intense." I don't give him time to reply. I whip the lace top off over my head, peel off the panties and toss them into a nearby arm chair.

"Now then my future husband, about that robe of yours. It's most fetching on you, but I want skin. Off with it this instant!"

Oh really, is the expression I receive. Erik pulls loose the silken tie of his Persian robe and shrugs it off. The expensive garment slithers to the floor.

There is Erik, magnificent in his naked glory. I eyeball him from head to toe. Erik's long legs and torso are lean and hard and dusted with masculine black hair. The master's hands bare graceful, long fingers.

Erik detests his face, but I think it most attractive; he has a decisively fine jaw line, and wonderful smoky jade green eyes the color of which I had never seen. His sensuous full mouth begs for kissing.

Then there is that part of his anatomy, which clamors for attention. Just below his navel, protruding from a dark brown tangle of hair is his glorious cock. Erik's sex is in proportion to the rest of his body, long and well muscled.

Unconsciously, I lick my lips.

"I see that my future bride approves."

I try to be the confident seductress, but I am somewhat embarrassed and turn my head with a soft laugh, "Yes, indeed she does, sweetheart."

"Kiss me, Gabrielle."

I move to meet his lips.

"Not there love," Erik glances downward.

"I see," I kneel before him and wrap my hands around his sex. Erik gently touches the back of my head, urging my closer.

I take him into my mouth, suckling him and swirling my tongue around his swollen head. Taking all of Erik in is difficult because of his extraordinary length, yet I manage, drawing him out slowly then plunging back in. The only sounds in the room are his tenor sighs of pleasure.

Suddenly he pushes my head away from him, "Gabrielle, Please…you must cease."

"But, why?"

With one swift movement, Erik lifts me up into his arms, carries me to the bed, and lays me onto the rose petal covered sheets.

"Because, I'd rather not share my release with you this way. Tonight I will make love to you as a husband does to his wife."

Erik is most serious in his declaration. I see the intent in his eyes; his voice is like bittersweet chocolate; rich, dark, sensuous, yet there is a touch of reserve in his demeanor. In spite of all the humiliation Erik had suffered in his life, he retains a proud dignity. I remind myself that although Erik may be worldly and wise, he is also a novice lover. He is a virgin and he is nervous.

I wiggled around in his bed enjoying the feel of the soft, fragrant petals on my skin.

"Erik, I adore the rose petals, they're a nice touch. You sure know how to woo a girl."

"Do I?"

"Hey, you got game."

"_What_?"

"Forgive me for if I seem flip. What I mean is that you are quite the romantic. In my time, my girlfriends would kill to have a man do the things you've done for me. So many men in the world are graced with picture perfect faces, but many of them, and being in the entertainment business I've met a bevy of them, are shallow, self-absorbed, horse's patooties."

"Then, you are complimenting me?"

"Very much so; you have a true appreciation for beauty Erik. Now, come here and kiss me on the lips my future husband."

The left side of the bed depresses when Erik settles his naked body next to mine. Silently we merge together entwining our arms, legs and tongues. My hands explore Erik's body discovering every nuisance, freckle, and dimple, noting the various textures of Erik's skin.

He slips his left hand under my buttocks and murmurs into my mouth about how soft I am. My sounds of pleasure increase his need. Gentle fingers venture to my secret garden, stroking the silken folds and dipping into my wetness. I inhale sharply when he slides a slick finger over the tiny bud.

"Erik, god you are so amazingly good at this. Do not stop, yes, good—faster, please," I plead.

He increases his strokes. I am seconds from release when he stops cold.

"Why did you stop?"

"Gabrielle, I want to feel your release with me imbedded inside of you."

"Don't worry about me Sweetheart; I recover pretty quickly for another, um, round. It is you who is tonight's guest of honor for induction into the wonderful world of copulation. Being the passionate type that you are, and having been so patient all of your adult life, It is your prerogative."

I smooth my index finger over his length of his cock. "I'll wager that your guy there will say to hell with patience when he finally enters the tunnel of love. In fact I expect it, I encourage it."

_As a virgin, I knew Erik wouldn't last more than a nano second the first few times._

"I've envisioned our bodies slick from the exertion of dancing within the silken sheets of my bed. My sex, not my fingers, is cradled deep within you, Gabrielle. Thinking of such things keeps me from slumber many a night."

_Did I just whimper_?

Caressing his shoulders lightly, I stare at him. I want him in the worse way.

"Gabrielle, my reading tells me of the importance of a woman's readiness for intercourse, I assume from your considerable wetness you are."

"Yes, Erik."

He picks up a pink rose petal and presses it to his lips. He runs it over my lips, down my neck and between my breasts. Softly, slowly he taunts my nipples with the soft petal. I jump when he passes the flower fragment over the ticklish skin of my hipbone. "Whoa, ticklish spot alert."

"Is it now?" he grins.

I giggle and writhe swatting away his hand.

"Someday I'll discover the one ticklish spot on your body, then you will pay the price for your torment!"

"It is highly unlikely that you'll ever find such a spot on my tenacious exterior."

"Ah, but we all have our weaknesses, isn't that what you always say?"

"How true, and I invite you to tickle me...go on, be my guest, dear."

_Wise ass_, I thinkbut at least this bit of levity has broken the ice.

"Some other time perhaps. Tonight is for pleasure, mainly yours, monsieur."

"Gabrielle, you are a lovely woman. Your skin is like silk and your body, magnificent. I cannot believe you are _mine_."

"All yours," I purr.

I kissed his nose, lips and cheeks; then looked into his eyes. "I am ready for you if you are ready for me."

"What is my best course of action, darling?"

"Simply lie atop me and kiss me like you've done numerous time before," I instruct Erik lovingly.

"Gabrielle, have you considered...precautions?"

_Just like a man to leave it to the woman._

How much do you know about female bodies, Erik?" I ask because I know people of Victorian times knew so little about the female reproductive system. Hell, most of them didn't believe women had orgasms!

"Being of a curious nature, I've read a great deal on the subject. Why do you ask?"

"Because I am in the early portion of my cycle, which lasts about twelve days. It would be highly unlikely if you were to impregnate me now."

Erik winced at the word, impregnate.

"Forgive me, I know in your time people are sensitive to speaking so honestly of such things. Where I come from, babies are just a normal fact of life."

"I suppose it's as it should be. Whatever happens darling, it will be alright, that I promise you."

Erik leans against my body, pushing me into the soft mountain of down pillows.

"Erik, would you consider removing your mask, for me? Tonight is a night of firsts for us, it would please me greatly to kiss both sides of your face." I request in my most honeyed voice.

My plea makes an impression on him. Erik rises on one elbow, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He reaches with his left hand to pluck the mask from the right side of his face. With eyes still closed, he removes the leather and places it on the table next to the bed.

Sensing his unease, I reach up and lovingly cradle Erik's face in my hands.

I kiss his forehead, his deformed eyelid, nose and cheek, and move to his lips. Erik returns the affection; placing light staccato kisses on my lips. Between smooches, I declare my love for him. Erik opens his eyes he looks fearful. I smiled broadly at him.

"Much better."

Erik flashes me a wary smile, draws my hand to his mouth and kisses my palm.

I reach down to stroke him. He instantly springs to life, becoming stiff and solid in my hand. I use the lubrication from his tip to slide my fingertips over the sensitive ridge. He hisses through clenched teeth.

Again we fall into the pillows. Erik and I touch, stroke and fondled and kiss each other's bodies until we're both panting with intense need.

"I can take this no more," he growls darkly. "I must have you Gabrielle." The lust in his voice sends shivers of delight through my body.

"Then have me, sweetheart."

Erik rolls on top of me and I pull up my legs and open them wide for him. His sits back on his haunches, taking his swollen cock in his left hand. He purses his lips and hesitates. I reach to part the delicate lips shielding his entry. Erik's chest rises and falls rapidly, while he takes in the sight of my wet pink road to nirvana.

"Now Erik," I whisper.

He guides his sex to my opening. I feel the softness of his flesh, then pressure, Erik is pushing into me.

I gasp; Erik leans over me and locks his eyes with mine.

"Love me Gabrielle."

"Let me."

My love grips my hands and moves slowly into my passage. I'm very tight and Erik is not a small fellow; he stretches me fully and at first there is some momentary discomfort, which passes once I adjust to his welcome intrusion.

"Mon dieu, un tel ecstacy, Gabrielle!"

"Ummm yes, Erik, this feels amazing."

Erik stills. I can feel him pulsing inside of me. I stroke his hair while he gathers his composure. ""It's okay baby, take your time, do whatever you like. You won't hurt me," I reassure him.

"Are you certain? You are most tight. I wish to pleasure you, not cause you pain."

"Don't worry Erik, I'm plenty wet, you'll fit nicely. Keep pushing into me, I won't break."

With a considerable thrust Erik enters me fully. His breathing becomes frantic, and he begins to moan, "Gabrielle, mon dieu, you...you are so warm and slippery and tight—like warm velvet. I might well die from this new sensation."

Erik draws out of me partially then pushes back in. My sex clutches around him causing him to cry out to me,

"Gabrielle—what are you; a celestial being? No mere woman can feel like, like this!"

"I'm not a mere woman, I am _your_ woman, Erik."

Fire blazes in his green eyes, his lips form a satisfied smile and he thrusts into me—hard.

I suck in a sharp breath and my insides melt with the bliss of pure physical pleasure.

Draping my legs around his backside, I gyrate up against his pelvis.

Even thought I am not working toward my own release, the sensation of Erik's cock inside me is intense. It rubs and stimulates my interior perfectly, sending dizzying waves of pleasure coursing through my core.

I whimper with his every thrust. "Erik, you feel amazing," I say and then involuntarily tighten around him.

Erik stiffens and begins pumping into me vigorously. He's moaning loudly as he rides me and I can tell by the concentration in his eyes his release is near.

"Come on, baisez-moi, Erik," I say brazenly.

He stares at the headboard of his bed, mouth open and panting as if he were running up hill. Suddenly, he squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back. Every muscle in his neck and shoulders flex and strain. Erik cries out my name over and over again like a mantra as his sex convulses. His release is violent and intense, pumping his considerable release into me, mingling with my juices.

I clutch him with my sex and with my arms as he enjoys the final vestiges of his orgasm.

Erik's spent and sweaty body collapses onto mine. He's panting into my hair and it takes my usually resilient man a good five minutes to find his voice.

"Gabrielle, my little vixen-angel. In my wildest fantasies, I never imagined how delicious you would feel wrapped around me. When can we do it again?"

"Whenever the urge hits you," I laugh and kiss his right cheek.

"That is certainly good news. But I think we should rest first."

"It has been a day filled with firsts hasn't it Erik?"

"Indeed."

I inhale his musky scent and smile to myself."

"I love you, Gabrielle."

"…And I love you, Happy birthday Erik."

I think he has fallen asleep.

- O -

_I am thankful for you readers. I am really thankful for the reviews. Note to new readers; the first few chapters have some incorrect punctuation I need to go back and fix; thanks for your patience. Now, please review or I will cry (boo hoo, huh?) —Leesa_

Mon dieu, un tel ecstacy: My god such ecstasy.

baisez-moi: Look it up.


	43. Ch 43 Gabrielle’s Prerogative

_Wonderful reviews!__** I am pleased to know that you liked the perevious chapter, this is a continuation, therefore has another Mature**__ rating. Thank you for continuing to read my story and to review.--Leesainthesky_

**Re-cap: Un-cork the champagne, Erik gets some, finally…**

**Ch 43 - Gabrielle's Prerogative**

It's sometime in the early morning of June 12, 1877. Yesterday was my birthday; I was born in the year 1976 and am no longer a twenty-something woman. The usual horrors of turning thirty have no power over me-I've recently made love to my new fiancéé, the famous 19th century composer and architect, Erik DuPuis. Though hardly an innocent, Erik is no longer a virgin.

He still sleeps. A summer thunderstorm is moving through the French countryside and I can smell the scent of ozone wafting in on the breeze through the bedchamber's open windows. The candles have extinguished themselves, but the flame on the lone gas lamp next to Erik's bed still dances with the breeze.

These elements of nature, which my senses perceive, reflect how I feel-fresh, new and bright.

Erik lay beside me curled on his right side, his left profile facing me. He is snoring softly, something he does often, since his deformed nostril causes him some problems from time to time.

His countenance is relaxed-peaceful. It is with love that I gaze upon my amative, vibrant man. This retro-century hell of mine has turned the corner to offer up promising possibilities.

I look upon Erik with awe and try not to wake him as I murmur my thoughts, "What hellish heartbreak, pain and disappointment you have known, my love? If it were within my power to erase those past torments, I would. What I can promise is to try and chase away those shadows."

Erik stirs. His left arm is pinned between his knees. When he turns towards me, his right arm flops across my torso. He sighs.

The memory of last night replays in my mind. Our inaugural bout of love making was at once tender and primal. Watching this powerful and mature man exercise his masculine prowess for the first time leaves me awe struck and raw with need.

I kiss his forehead and draw closer to his warmth. The familiar tingling begins in my thighs, spreading wet heat. A faint whimper escapes from my throat. Erik's hands come to life, lazily stroking the flesh just above my hips where a network of tender nerve endings lay. His graceful fingers slip lower until he pets my inner thigh. My moans compel him to creep lower still, until the tips of his fingers flutter against the tender folds of skin between my legs.

Something bumps up against my bent right leg-his hand isn't the only body part coming to life.

Erik brushes away the hair from my neck and kisses the nape gently. "Good morning my love," he coos.

"Good, yes and getting better all the time--oh, geez Erik, piano isn't the only thing you play well," I groan.

I can't help but wallow in my bliss and reciprocate his attentions by reaching over him to stroke his hard, muscled ass.

Erik's body reacts with goose bumps, hardened nipples and an even harder cock.

"This lovely dew flowing from your sweet insides is considerable, daring. Could my future bride be yearning for me to take her?" Erik's voice is smooth and rich, like fine dark-chocolate.

I am mad for him to penetrate me; to love me with his body. "I want…this," I purr and grasp hold of what I crave, Erik's considerable hard-on.

"I'm not ready my love." Could have fooled me.

I roll onto my back for better access. Erik understands this and resumes his stroking, using my silky lubrication as a pleasure enhancement. His index finger slides gently over the right side of my swollen clitoris; his other hand cups and kneads my breasts lovingly. Delicious tension builds in my loins. I am going to come, but not without Erik.

"I'm making love to you, now. My release will happen with you nestled deeply inside me; comprenez Monsieur?"

"Clearly, Mademoiselle," he grins sleepily, happily.

"On your back please."

"Excusez-moi?"

"I want to be on top, don't fret, you'll like it."

Erik eyes me with anticipatory lust. He is smiling that wry sideways smile of his.

I capture his legs between my knees and lean over to kiss the top of his sex, then I lick it.

"Merde, Gabrielle," he hisses.

"That's right sweetheart, lay there and enjoy yourself. I know I plan to."

I rise up and position myself over him. The tender lips of my sex whisper against Erik's tip. In one movement, I part the delicate folds and press steadily on top of Erik. He's watching with rapt interest, yet the feeling becomes so intense for him he closes his eyes and throws his head into the pillow. I am fully impaled on his engorged sex and begin riding him up and down, deliberately; slowly.

Erik fits perfectly. Looking at his well defined body thrills me, he is so beautiful in his imperfection. Those haunting burning, eyes, his full lips and talented tongue, the charisma of his haughty attitude even entice me.

He has recovered from the initial contact of our bodies and is observing me keenly. His eyes roam over my body appreciatively expressing adoration.

"I love you, Gabrielle."

"And I you Erik."

"I apologize, darling, but I feel certain that I am close to release," his voice was raw with longing.

"Then we will be able to unleash our passions together," I promised.

I ride Erik harder, up and down, frantically rotating my hips against him, desperate for release. I feel Erik's sex pulsing rapidly against my inner walls.

He meets my movements enthusiastically and I begin to buck wildly, my hair flying in my face, breasts bouncing about as a most maddening sensation pervades my body.

"Oh Erik, oh my god, oh my god, I-oh-you feel so good, so good, oh, incredible…Erik, I love you." I feel only dizzying ecstasy and come completely undone. My feminine sheath convulses around him; he grunts, quivers, and thrusts against my womb. I liquefy as we share our release together, and then collapse on top of Erik in a post-coitus stupor.

He is kisses my hair and strokes my arm, "Gabrielle, my sweet I have perused numerous tomes of erotica, witnessed many a tryst within the dark corridors of the opera house and as a boy in the gypsy carnivals. I have heard the frenzied cries of lust and the hushed declarations of love. I carry no shame when I tell you I've engaged in fantasies using my hand upon my very flesh, but those experiences never prepared me for the euphoria of being sheathed within your warm, welcoming body. Why, this new experience rivals the joys of composing my most inspired cantata. And your release, it was astounding. I may well never allow your feet to touch the floor again."

With my face buried in the crook of his neck, I panted out a winded laugh, "I suppose you will be cooking for yourself then?"

"Bah, who needs food?"

I lay a trail of kisses on his neck and coo into his ear, "I'm very happy you enjoyed that Erik."

"My love, were you-did I perform adequately?"

"Adequately?" I lift my head to look in his eyes. "Erik, you were beyond adequate--you rocked my world you sexy beast."

"I will take that as a compliment."

"And then some," I laugh, incredulous that he would think otherwise. "You never cease to amaze me."

Erik continues winding his fingers through the tawny mess that is my hair.

"Intercourse-I have considered ceaselessly what it would feel like to bed a woman, so much in fact, I had made myself miserable with the knowledge that such carnal joys were not for my kind. Eventually I taught myself to disengage mind and body from fleshly desires. I am a fortunate man to have you Gabrielle."

My heart breaks for Erik when he recounts his loveless existence. He's such an impassioned man, I consider myself lucky that he accepts me into his cloistered world.

"I'm the lucky one, Erik. If these stupid women knew you as I do, well, I'm not sure I would be your first choice."

"Gabrielle," Erik reprimanded me, "Why ever would you say such a thing? Good lord woman, you are lovely and kind and clever. Your intelligence rivals that of most men! For me, you are nearly perfect."

"Oh, you only say that because you like the booty."

He is not smiling at me. "Hardly the reason; there are few people I suffer for any reason. I fancy you for many, many reasons, Mademoiselle."

"I know, I know, I just…I shouldn't speak of rejection to you, but after being left by my mother and jilted twice by a lover, then working in a business where you are never good enough, low self esteem dies a long, hard death. All I ever wanted was to be someone's first choice."

"All I ever wished for was to be chosen." What the hell am I whining for? I ask myself.

"I chose you Erik-for eternity, and while I cannot alter your past, I only hope that being chosen by me is good enough for the magnificent Erik DuPuis." I say as I push myself up onto my elbows for a face to face with Erik. "An eternity of looking into your brilliant eyes, bending your brilliant mind and enjoying the machinations of brilliant sex sounds like a good deal to me! What do you say to that Monsieur?"

"This," Erik rolled me over and swiftly climbed on top of me.

"Hey now beastie boy!" I giggle. He is biting my neck and growling, and I like it.

"Yes well, if I am a beastie as you say, then I may well have to ravish your body once more."

He isn't playing either. I can feel his cock is blooming hard against my mons.

"Gabrielle, is it normal for a man to produce an erection so quickly after release?" Erik sounds concerned.

"For some men I suppose it is unusual, but you, Erik are more virile than most. Plus you have a lot of catching up to do."

"I don't wish to impose myself upon your good nature. Are you able to…?"

"Shut-up and do me."

Erik throws me a facetious sideways smile; I am certain that he plans to deal with my high-handedness in a most deserving way.

It's a good thing that today is Sunday. It is the Roux's day off and they often spend it going to church and visiting with family in Paris.

Except for brief trips to the WC, Erik and I have been in bed for hours. I am sore in the most in-opportune places and I've no doubt Erik is too. After all, the man has made love to me five times since last evening. I shouldn't be surprised; whatever Erik DuPuis does, he does bien cuit.

Erik just traipsed downstairs to fetch some sustenance; chocolate birthday cake leftover from yesterday, cheese, grapes and anything else that strikes his fancy. I heard his stomach grumbling after round four, he's got to be ravenous.

The bedchamber door opened with a bang, and a naked Erik entered carrying an enormous tray of food; there is a bottle of a white wine stashed under one arm. It's quite a comical scene and I cannot stop myself from laughing.

"Do you wish to eat or mock my efforts?" he says setting the tray on the bed and crawling on top of the covers.

I nab a bunch of grapes, "You've worn me to a right frazzle. If I don't get to eat, I'll perish; have mercy monsieur."

"Frazzled are you my little dove? Forgive me. I too am a tad tender. What does one do when they have over-indulged in pleasures of the flesh?"

"Cease for a time and heal, continue until the body adjusts to the activity, or rub ointment on the injured body part."

"I choose the second option."

"Naturally."

"But I don't wish to wear you out. Let's eat, Gabrielle. Then we can wash, dress and tend to the rose garden, perhaps I'll write a song for you. One has been running through my head since last night, I would very much like to actualize it soon."

I munch grapes and smile at him. Feeling dazed and happy, I agree with Erik's suggestions. I would probably agree with him if he told me the sky was green and the trees blue.

"Next week you will schedule a fitting for your wedding gown. There is a courtier in Paris I want you to use. Madame Roux can assist you with the arrangements. I shall need to pen personal invitations to the Giry's, the Mangeot's and the few other people I consider worthy of attending our nuptials. There are many details which cannot be dealt with until just before our wedding day, but should you desire anything at all, Gabrielle, you must tell me. Your wish is my command, darling."

"I will, Erik." I touch his hand briefly, "And thank you for being so sweet and generous to me."

Erik poured a glass of wine for us to share, "Gabrielle," he asks, handing me the goblet of wine.

"Mmm?" I hum as I take a sip of the wine.

Erik fixes his gaze on the bottle in his hand while he continues, "Do you still detest existing in the 19th century?"

I passed the goblet to him and propped my chin up in one hand, "Well…not nearly as much as I once did."

My eyes sought his, "Seriously, Erik, if I had the choice to return to my former life without you or stay here, I would have to stay here. Living without you in the new millennium would be hell."

"Good, for it is because of you that my 19th century existence has ceased to be hell."

**- O -**

**_Author's note: Some candy for your sweet tooth. This story will get thorny again, so please stay with me for the trauma and the drama. And shoot me a review, it's hard to know how I am doing if I don't get feedback.Don't make me pout. To those who have been faithful, I thank you profusely--Leesa_**


	44. Ch 44 Moving Forward

**_Good day to you and a Merry Christmas and Happy Holiday! You are back and that is a good sign. Lurkers and readers, please remember to drop me a review. I value them. _**

**_-Leesainthesky_**

**Chapter 44 Moving Forward**

Sage wisdom tells us that the longer one lives; the faster time seems to pass. This was revealed to me during the summer of my engagement to Erik. The past year had flown by like a day; the past week as second.

Within one week, I'd become betrothed, consummated my relationship with Erik, and written my first piece of work for publication in the 19th century.

Two months ago, I submitted samples of my written work to George Eliot. She was quick with her reply, suggesting minor alterations. With Erik serving as editor, my work was as close to flawless. (If she only knew my writing was adapted from the 21st century).

Impressed with my knowledge of the suffragette movement in Europe and especially the abandonment of the French movement following the Revelation, Eliot referred me to Adolphe Gueroult, colleague and owner of the left-leaning newspaper, _L'Opinion National._

The idea was to offer readers an American point of view of the European women's movement.

It seems that the French were so comfortable in their post-revolution freedoms that the idea of yet another cultural upheaval was too much to bear. The suffragette movement had rolled backwards at an alarming pace.

Fear gripped me momentarily when I thought about seeing my words printed in a Victorian publication.

Did I have the right to comment on historical events of which I'd not actually lived through? If I did, what responsibility would I incur by doing so? Could I make a difference in the lives of these women without altering history? Would Erik allow it?

Facts would need checking, and that meant traveling to libraries and the homes of significant personalities within the movement.

My darling Erik harbored an enormous respect for my ability and intellect; that wasn't the problem. The problem would be allowing me to travel. You see, Erik has absolutely no experience as a mate; therefore he does not always possess the ability to discern the intentions of others. Being a paranoid sort, I imagined him fearing he would lose me should I venture too far into the world without his guidance.

I would need to be both sensitive and prudent in my approach.

Erik and I were hanging around his music room, engaging in one of our favorite platonic ways to pass the time; accompanying one another on guitar and piano. Occasionally, when he was in a patient mood, would tutor me in strengthening my vocal skills. "You have a fine ear dear. You can hear the notes, and if you can hear them, you can sing them. You need only to strengthen your instrument and develop your own style."

"I remember some of my early training in the school chorus, but I am afraid I will not be able to sing opera, don't want to either. I am more of a modern sort of singer. I'm not a disappointment to you, am I Erik?"

_I'm no Christine_.

"Of course not. I understand your limitations darling. I am far more patient than you give me credit for and I have no lofty expectations. I merely wish to foritify what you already have."

"You're sweet. Don't you give me that "No I'm not, I'm a bad ass" sort of look, Erik. You are, you are, you are; you are a sweet man!"

"Come here you insufferable woman. Come and sit on my lap"

Swiftly I oblige sitting across his legs and wrapping my arms about his neck. I place many quick kisses on his face, then lick up the length of his cheek.

"Odd aren't you?"

"Sweet, aren't you, like spun sugar," I retort.

"Good god, I can never again be menacing creature with you in my life can I?"

"Do you wish to be?"

"No, that persona no longer serves me. He has been vanquished to a remote part of my being, only to be drawn out in case of danger or harm to those I care for."

"Erik, sweetheart, you have read my writing. What is your true opinion of it?"

"Well," he said twisting a lock of my hair around his index finger, "It is progressive and inspired if not a tad too progressive for the average citizen puerile brain. Why do you ask?"

"George Eliot, Miriam, wants me to submit an editorial piece for her friend's paper."

"Which will cater to an avant-garde audience. That is fabulous news Gabrielle; finally your talents will be of use, at least those not exclusive to me."

"Then you are alright with me writing for publication?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I?"

"Suppose I must travel for research or events pertaining to, say, women's rights?"

"Suffrage is a noble cause; however, I would not wish for my wife to be absent from my arms for long. And I do worry for your well-being," he said, nuzzling the side of my neck.

"I know you do, but you mustn't. I am thinking that whenever possible, perhaps we can coordinate our working trips at the same time."

"Perhaps. Allow me to mull it over for a day, if you will dear."

"Yes. But remember, I don't cotton to being caged like a bird. You do know you can trust me Erik. I am forever yours," a point I punctuate with a kiss upon his unmasked nose.

He rewards me with a beatific smile. "As long as you continue to kiss me and please me with your feminine charms, I am potter's kaolin in your hands."

We abandon our pursuits of the piano and guitar in favor of our most favorite instruments, each other.

Three days later, I make the final edit on my piece for _L'Opinion National_, seal it and send it off in care of George Eliot. All I can do now is find ways to amuse myself while waiting not so patiently for a reply. Thumbs up, thumbs down.

I hate waiting.

Recently, Erik has been pestering me to arrange a visit to Madame Broussard's. She is the premiere couturier of wedding gowns in Paris. It seems that my fiancée sent her a letter by courier requesting her services.

"Gabrielle, you forget, it is not possible to sew up a gown in the snap of the fingers as you people from the 21st century do."

"I know that Erik, and you're right. It's just that the days, they're flying by me at a break-neck speed. When would you like for me to go for a fitting?"

"Next Wednesday. Madame Roux and I will accompany you to Paris."

"Why Marie? I can certainly go on a fitting by myself. I am a big girl you know."

Erik caresses my body with his smiling eyes, "Indeed, I've noticed. But it would be odd for a young woman to go un-chaperoned to a fitting for her wedding gown. I will wait in the carriage while you are being attended to. The monetary details have been handled as I've forwarded a goodly sum of money to Madame Brossard as a retainer."

"Got it all figured out don't you. I'm not sure I like having my life managed for me."

Erik is baffled. "It is merely a matter of getting things done. You seem displeased. Are you not amenable to the idea, darling?

I realize he is accustomed to forging ahead with his ideas. Another woman's wedding dress surfaces in my memory.

"I'm not upset, and I _am_ grateful for your assistance, Erik.

He nods in understanding. We are both used to arranging the details of our own solitary lives. The shared responsibilities of being a couple will take some adjusting to.

"Please remember that I'm a woman used to doing things for myself," I add.

"While it is an attribute we both share, my intention is merely to be of assistance. I only wish to help. You are my princess, Gabrielle, and should be treated as such."

My nose and eyes start to tingle; he's going to make me cry.

"Erik, you sweet man, you are too good to me."

I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him tightly. He reciprocates with my favorite affectionate gesture, kissing the top of my head.

"Then it is settled. This coming Wednesday, we shall take the carriage to Paris for the first of your bridal fittings."

I am actually very excited knowing my wedding dress is to be designed by one of Paris's first famous couturiers. Even though our ceremony will be small, I hold dear Erik's need to dote on me as if I were his Princess.

Two months from tomorrow, Erik's opera, La Femme du Norde, will open at the Lyric in Paris. Three weeks and two days later, we will be wed in the garden at DuPuis Manor.

The opera's score is complete and now in the hands of the directeur de l'opéra. Rehearsals are underway for his production, and because it is a new piece of work and Erik's baby, he insists on attending rehearsals..

Erik sits in the dark of one of the house boxes, listening and jotting down his critiques for the director. He wears his flesh tone mask so no one will imagine that he is, or was, the infamous Phantom of the Opera Garnier.

It is a distasteful venture for Erik, but he must attend once weekly to insure the company does not butcher his masterpiece.

The citizens of Paris move in slow motion under the hot summer sun. Women with their parasols open drag whiney children along on daily shopping routines and men congregate in the shade of the trees and buildings along the boulevard, seeking relief.

Madame Broussard's is on the Place Vendôme, a street littered with fine shops. Henri parks the carriage to the right of the shop, where the carriage will remain shaded and partially hidden from her window. This way Erik can keep an eye on what transpires within from the carriage. Henri invites Erik to share a pint with him, which he declines. Always the vigilant one, Erik wants to stay sober should I should require his assistance. Madame Broussard is obviously acquainted with Erik (that little diva's wedding dress perhaps?).

"Enjoy your adventure darling," he says kissing me on the lips and stealing a quick glance at a disapproving Madame Roux. In Marie's book, blatant displays of affection from unmarried couples are infelicitous.

Marie and I enter Madame Broussard's to the merry sound of tiny silver bells, tinkling in accordance to the hopes and dreams of those entering her domain.

"Marie, what a posh place. Is it true the famous French soprano, Rose Caron has her gowns made here?" I enthuse to my advisor and chaperone, Madame Roux.

"Oh, no, no, no!" the exalted Madame Brossard interrupts peevishly. "Dear girl, my gowns are never _made. My_ gowns are creations! Of course, being a woman of American descent, you do not know such things."

"Forgive me Madame Broussard; I am such a novice in the areas of couture." W_hich is not true, since as a feature reporter I had covered fashion week around the globe many, many seasons, but I try not excite the natives. _

"You nouveau riche foreigners, I am not inclined to waste my talents on your ilk when the crème de la crème of European society queues up at my door," she sniffs.

Marie despises high and mighty attitudes; she stiffens and opens her mouth for a terse reply when Pierre, Madame Broussard's effete assistant, saves us.

"Madame Broussard," he says in a stage whisper, "I am certain she meant no disrespect to you. Be of mind that Mademoiselle Thomassen's fiancée is a celebrated French composer and a prosperous businessman; his money is as good as anyone's is. The young and famous of Paris also require the benefit of your exceptional talents. The old money of Parisian bluebloods is all well and good, but, alas they will age and die and with them, your legacy."

The little stick of a woman appears to be soaking in his words, but I can't tell if he's convinced her of my worthiness.

"Remember what happened to Monsieur Tristan? Dying customers and prêt a porte put him out of business, poor fool. You can only benefit from having your glorious creations paraded upon beautiful, young wealthy women. Why, when she appears at the various galas, and openings, you will continue to be the talk of Europe!"

Marc beams and simpers to both of us simultaneously.

_This dude is a prolific brown-noser. _

I can see the old biddy mulling over the words of her handsomely effeminate attendant.

With a terse wave of her hand she says, "Indeed Marc, there may be some truth to your insight. Very well, I shall acquiesce to creating a most exquisite gown for you Mademoiselle Thomassen."

I smile appreciatively at the wiry blonde assistant and throw my arms around his neck. "Thank you Monsieur, you have such marvelous vision."

He gushes over my compliment and kisses me on the cheek. If I left this shop without contract on a wedding gown, Erik would grill me about what mischief I must have caused. The last thing any of us needs is to rile the ire of Erik DuPuis over something as silly as Madame Broussard's boorishness.

I steal a glance through the shop window, eager to reassure my fiancée with a happy smile. He is still sitting in the carriage, just within eyeshot of the shop's multi-paned window. Erik is frowning profusely and motioning with a crooked finger for me to come to him.

_Hells bells, _what_ now? _

- O -

_Author's note: __The Lyric Opera House referred to in my story is fictional. There was never a lyric in Paris. Mine is a fairly new opera house featuring works from the more progressive composers_.

_Prete a porte: Ready to wear _

Thanks to Amy the super-beta! Thanks to you for reading, please review the chapter.


	45. Ch 45 Misunderstood

_**Thank you for the reviews. Welcome to my new readers !**_

_**Re-cap: As Gabrielle gets fitted for her wedding gown, she sees Erik motioning to her from the carriage.**_

**Ch 45 misunderstanding**

"Pardon moi, Madame, my intended is waiting in his carriage and I see that he requires my attention. I'll be but a moment, forgive me."

I excuse myself, exit the shop, and step into the street with a swish of my skirts, walking briskly over to where Erik's steely eyes glare at me.

"What is it darling?"

"What do you think you are doing in there," Erik hisses angrily.

"Huh?"

"Get in now," he commands, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me into the carriage roughly.

_I've no idea what's tripped his trigger now._

"What's wrong sweetheart?"

"I saw you hug that man and grant him a buss on the cheek. Have you forgotten you are an engaged woman, Gabrielle?"

I can feel Erik's hot breath on my face. He is now within an inch from my nose and he looks _pissed._

At first, I am stupefied. "What man are you talking about? There's no man in that shop." At once, Erik clicks the door latch and draws the velvet curtain.

He turns to me. His eyes breathe fire.

"Do not lie to me you little viper! I saw you in there. Is that what you truly desire, a pretty young dandy between your thighs?"

It dawns on me that he is speaking of Madame Broussard's assistant, Marc. I can't help myself and snicker.

Swiftly, Erik pushes me onto the carriage bench and flattens his body against mine. His fierce movement knocks me breathless. With eyes, wide open I gape up at him, very glad no one can see what's happening inside the grand carriage.

"Go ahead, Gabrielle, laugh at Erik," he sneers. "You duplicitous little trollop! I have often wondered how long it would take for your interests to wander given ample opportunities to mingle with those outside my world."

Erik rages on in a deadly quiet voice. It scares the hell out of me to see him shift back to his dangerous personality at the drop of an assumption. My knee jerk reaction is to yell at him to get the f#ck off of me and then tell him what a royal asshole he's being. Thank god, the more mature part of my brain intercepts to remind me that Erik's primary life experience is rejection; he doesn't realize I was simply being my gregarious self.

With my feet planted firmly against the locked carriage door, I give Erik a mighty push. Our positions are now reversed with Erik pinned against the opposite bench and me staring down into his eyes. I am sure that he won't stay stunned for long; I must act quickly. With a stern voice, I address the dark-haired man with eyes now the color of the hottest flame.

"Now you listen to me Erik DuPuis, I know you don't realize how incorrect you are about me, and I know it has little to do with who I am, but you had better learn to trust me or we won't last a month. I am _not_ your mother, I am _not_ Christine; I am _not_ any of those people from your past who tossed you aside. I am Gabrielle. I love you and I want no one else, period. About that man in there—he's gay."

"He should be after being molested by a pretty woman." Erik is still plenty pissed, and then I get it.

"Well he's not happy-gay, he's homosexual-gay, a Nancy boy, and he's Madame Broussard's assistant. Marc was being immensely useful interpreting my wishes and then explaining them to the couturier."

Erik still glowers over me. He's obviously not convinced.

"Erik, where I come from, people hug people they don't know well—like when French men motion to kiss ladies on the back of the hand, or other men on the cheek."

Erik now sports a dazed and confused look, which is an improvement over his livid look.

"He's a homosexual? I see, still you simply must employ proper decorum when in public. I find it unsettling to witness you kissing…"

"Hey there hot stuff, it's me, Gabrielle, remember?" I say this while I am reaching for a handful of Erik's privates.

His eyes grow really big; if I weren't so pissed off, I would have laughed again.

"How does it feels to be intimidated Erik? You think my intentions are dishonorable but they're not. At this moment, I could cause you a great deal of pain, but I'm not."

I release Erik's most delicate organ from my grip and begin a languorous journey with my fingertips over his privates, who morph from shrunken and frightened to plump and stiff now that they know they are not in danger. My fingers make quick work of the buttons of his fly, freeing his sex.

"Gabrielle, what ever are you intending to…?"

"Shhhh, you bad boy. You need to be punished." I hike my skirts around my hips and position my body over his. The back seat of a Pinto is large compared to the confines of the carriage. I position one foot on the floor and fold my other knee on the seat. With a determined move, I sink onto Erik.

"Good lord, Gabrielle, we'll be discovered."

"You locked the doors, remember?"

"Gabrielle, really now..."

"I'm sure the folks from this century are familiar with the saying if the carriage is a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'."

Whether or not Erik comprehends this wisdom, I'm not sure—my mouth silences him with a deep kiss; Erik's protests become sounds of erotic surrender. His hips direct the rhythm of our lovemaking, and the cramped quarters make it possible for our bodies to rub against each other in the most delicious of ways. I would say that the unexpected thrill of hot and dangerous sex has taken his mind off of the gay fellow in the shop across the street.

The thrill of dangerous sex activates Erik's most primal instincts. We move and moan, fierce in our pursuit for the release that comes swiftly and intensely.

I am dizzy from the afternoon heat and the close quarters. Sweat pours from our bodies, and we breathe heavily against one another in an attempt to recover.

"Gabrielle, you must tidy up and return to Madame Broussard's or they will come looking for you," Erik says peering up at me.

"I know," I adjust my bodice and skirts. "Do I look alright?"

"Here, darling," Erik reaches to tuck in strands of my disheveled hair and wipes the smudged lips color from below my bottom lip.

"Much better, now, go on."

I unlock and open the carriage door, and flash Erik a hasty smile.

"Off with you, mad vixen," he implores.

Erik, love the man though I do, is quite the maddening handful, I think as I stride back to Madame Broussard's to complete the fitting for my wedding gown.

All in all, the rest of the fitting progressed smoothly. Standing for three hours of being measured and draped, poked and pinned was slightly mind numbing. I thanked my lucky stars that between Marc's pandering and Madame Roux's conversation about her friend who worked as a costume designer for the Paris Opera, I didn't have to chat it up about my own dubious life.

The wearisome time spent standing for my fitting would be worth the discomfort. My gown was to be created from raw silk, in ivory with a small front drape and a single ruffle trailing from the waist to the floor. Sleeves of Chantilly lace covered the arms and décolletage down to the top of the bodice. Mine was an unusual request, a mixture of modern minimalist and Victorian pattern. It took quite a bit of haranguing to convince Madame B. to take my preferences into account, but since I was engaged to a man with considerable purse strings, the designer eventually acquiesced to me.

Returning to the manor took only an hour, but the day had turned blistering. All in the world I wished for was to shed my confining garments and indulge in a cool shower. While Madame Roux and I grumbled of our misery, Erik appeared to be unruffled by the day's escalating temperatures. His eyes drifted above and beyond the passing treetops to a place where the needs of his imagination overcame his physical discomforts.

When he returned to the present world, he turned to address me, "Gabrielle darling, next Friday, a week from tomorrow, I must travel to London on business. Eugene Mangeot has been ceaselessly haranguing me to invest in some sort of invention one of his associate his has created, a paper for use in the lavatory. Seems another fellow tried his hand at the same invention some 10 or 20 years back and it didn't go well."

While I was sad to hear of Erik leaving my side for five days, I snapped to attention at the mention of this new invention. Madame Roux appeared to be sleeping so I chanced an opportunity to encourage Erik in his new business prospect.

"Oh Erik, this fellow's invention is much more cosmopolitan than the pervious attempt. It will revolutionize personal hygiene. If it's what I think it is, you have got to invest in this _creation_ as you call it. Toilet paper will become the most used staple item in every household with or without indoor plumbing. It's going to be huge. If you get in on the ground floor on this, you will be a wealthy man."

"I already have enough money to live fabulously, Gabrielle."

"But you'll be beyond rich, Erik; you'll never have to worry about money again. This product will make money for you while you take your time doing what you truly enjoy. I'm telling ya, you better do it. Don't forget, I _know_ things."

"Yes, well, that is true. I'll take your advisement seriously, Gabrielle. Toilet paper, you say?"

"Yes, and make sure this fellow plans on selling his patent to the British Paper Company, because I don't remember the name of the man who invented the successful version, all I know is that it was not the original flat sheet kind, it was on a small roll and it was, or will be, manufactured by a British company around 1880."

"Very good darling. Have you any other tidbits of useful…information to pass along?"

"Nothing that wouldn't have an unsavory domino effect on the course of history." I whispered.

Erik's genius surpassed that of most men I'd been acquainted with through my father's occupation. My father, like Erik, was a laudable scientist capable of understanding nearly any equation known to mankind and then some. Erik and my father would have gotten along splendidly. Both no-nonsense men when it came to the limits of the mind, my father was patient and calm while Erik was not, a valuable partnership in the lab.

The trees lining the driveway to Dupuis manor was now visible. I sighed in relief knowing that these folds of cloth covering my body would soon be in a damp pile on the floor.

"Wearing all of these layers totally sucks," I mouthed at Erik.

"Poor thing," he chuckled at me.

An hour later, I was relaxing in the sun-porch which was remarkably cool, having been built with cool stones and shaded with large oak trees.

Erik padded in soundlessly wearing a loose cotton outfit reminiscent of the Orient.

"Refreshed I see?" He indicated the wet pile of hair pined up on my head.

"Yes indeed, the deluxe shower you rigged up for me is heaven on these hot days. Thank you again."

"You are most welcome," he bowed. "I am your humble servant. I do find enjoyment tinkering around with new inventions. Through you, I have fathomed many new discoveries."

"Your fertile mind never sleeps does it?"

"Never, it is my best friend and worst enemy."

"Your latest contrivance, that enormous battery in the cellar, is remarkable. I am impressed with the way you utilized it's polarity to run some of my electronic devices. It is way more proficient that what is currently available in this century."

He shrugged his shoulders, "I am amazed at how mush I have learned from you since you arrived here. For a woman, you are amazingly proficient at science and the understanding of basic laws, a skill found in few men.'

"I'm a physicist's daughter, and a Daddy's girl, what do you expect?"

I get up from the sofa and move behind Erik to massage his shoulders. He makes a sound of pleasurable relief as I administer to his ever-tense muscles.

"The shower was child's work. They are already in operation in some homes, just not as streamlined as mine."

"And you had to foresight to add a decorative velvet curtain with a liner made from a type of rubber coating over ...something? You could well become this century's Martha Stewart!"

"Silk, the fabric is silk. Who in the blazes is Martha somebody and what wouldincite you to compare me to a...a...woman?"

"Martha is a modern day mogul who is a genius with all things pertaining to the home. She is cunning and ruthless as well, just the sort you would admire sweetheart," I say this and kiss his neck beneath his hairline. Chill bumps appear on the exposed flesh.

"Can't I go? I'll be so lonely here without you."

"Not this time Gabrielle, I know nothing about the man Mangeot wishes to introduce me to. He may not be fond of having women around when business is being discussed."

"Naturally, after all, I wouldn't want to show him up," I grouse.

"Exactly darling, anyway the roses will need your touch while I am gone. Mid summer is peak season for them. They require much maintenance and I trust no one but you to tend to their tender blooms."

"Alright," I huff, feeling defeated. I release my grip on Erik and announce my intent to go up to my room and do some writing.

"Very well then; you won't forget supper this time, will you?"

I smile sheepishly, remembering last week when I was so engrossed in my piece for the newspaper that Erik had to interrupt and let me know that the supper hour had come and gone.

He was famished and would I please prepare something for him lest he die of starvation?

I had to wonder how he managed survival while living under the opera house.

"No, I won't forget to feed you Erik, I promise."

"Good, you spoil me so with your gastronomical talents, I've quite look forward to supper time."

"It's to our advantage that we get a great deal of exercise, lest we both bloom into porkers. As it is, I don't relish the weight I put on."

"I do."

"I know. Stop leering, it's not gentlemanly."

"As if I care…"

"'Is salad nicoise agreeable to you for supper, Erik? With the heat and all, I thought something light would be more refreshing than a heavy entrée."

_And less time consuming._

"Perfectly fine, as long as you remember."

"You nut," I laugh and swat at him with a sheet of parchment. "Can't you entertain yourself for the next few hours while I commence to writing?"

Erik just looks at me. His face is utterly expressionless, as if doesn't know what to think about my dismissal. Please do not let him be miffed with me again, I silently pray.

He dips his head in a bow and turns on his heels to leave, "Despotic woman," I hear him mumble on the way out of the library.

Erik must love me; the man who was once master and commander of his domain has turned it down a notch or two. Now when he is irritated with me, his countenance is much like that of a humorous curmudgeon.

I shake my head in amusement and start the laborious task of penning the very first editorial of my new life.

_**- O -**_

**_If this is getting tedious, tell me. I am not a writer, just trying my hand at the art through this fan-fic. Any feedback good, bad or indifferent will be of great interest to me. Okey dokey? Thanks again to my beta, Amy. If anyone is open to hopping board as a beta, let me know. The more the merrier._**

_**-Leesa**_


	46. Ch 46 Strange Encounters

_**Welcome back my fabulous readers. Perhaps it sounds odd, but I've missed you. The old pc is up and running again and I have caught my breath from all those Christmas festivities. Enjoy the new chapter and please do review for me. **_

_**-Leesainthesky **_

**Re-Cap: Erik finishes his opera, Gabrielle writes a newspaper article…**

**Ch 46 Strange Encounters **

If the past two thirds of the year were an accurate barometer for the final third, 1877 would prove to be another year bursting with human ingenuity.

An inordinate number of mankind's theoretic imaginings had come to fruition this past year. Progress leapt ahead with gargantuan strides, pushing the limits of human inventiveness to the hilt. Within the first year of my new life in the 19th century, the Russian Imperial Ballet staged the first performance of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, the 1st human cannonball act was performed in London, Thomas Edison invented the phonograph, an Italian astronomer detected canals on the surface of Mars, and Germany manufactured the first stuffed toy bear.

Time in the Manor's vast library nearly equaled Erik's time spent in his music room. He'd become especially interested in advances of disease control, obstetrical science, and childhood maladies. I assumed a great deal of his interest had to do with his own need to understand what may have gone wrong within his own genetic malady.

A master of anatomy and cures for many bacterial and infectious illnesses, Erik had the genius of a PhD, the curiosity of a forensic scientist and an intellect surpassed by few. Boundaries that clipped the wings of mere men did not exist for Erik. He knew no boundaries.

One afternoon, I was preparing bread for baking when he stormed into the kitchen bellowing and waving a newspaper. "Gabrielle, why did you not inform me of this invention during our many talks?"

The weightiness of his ratings ceased to disturb me as they once did. I turned to him, calmly wiping my dough-covered hands on my apron. "Why didn't I tell you what?"

"About, _this_!" He thrust the paper under my nose, furiously tapping at the offending article.

"Joseph Monier introduces a new formulation sure to revolutionize the future of masonry. The inventor has developed a concoction of simple concrete and steel rods, used as a bolster in building structures, a significant amelioration for the architectural community. Monier calls his invention _reinforced concrete_," I mouthed the words of the article aloud, and then looked back to Erik.

"Erik, you can't expect me to recall an entire 128 years of inventions. My college career only spanned six years. My major was communications with a minor in quantum sciences, to please my dad. I'm terribly sorry." I splayed my hands out in a show of apology.

Erik frowned and started at the newspaper for a moment, "I know. Forgive my insolence. Seven years have passed since I discovered the means to fortify cement with the addition of metal spikes. I employ the material in most of my projects." A glint of rage marked his eyes once more.

"I shall find the traitor who sold my secrets to this, this Joseph Monier and put an end to his mutinous ways!" Erik clenched his hands into tight fists, crumpling up the paper in the process.

E-gads, I thought.

"Darling," I cooed in an effort to placate his escalating rage, "you can't be sure who, if anyone stole your creation. Simply improve on your design and patent it immediately. Success is the best revenge, not murder."

He slumped into a nearby kitchen chair and flicked his brooding eyes up to my face. "I would rather throttle the rascal who stole from me; it just feels more…_satisfying_."

"I know, but I don't want to visit you in prison," I said, kissing his forehead.

"Prison? No prison exists that can hold Erik." he boasted.

"Yes my trapdoor lover, I'll give you that, but please promise me you'll not risk it?"

"Indeed," he grumbled reluctantly.

Our August passed in a glorious haze of endless discovery. If we were not engaged in making love, we were exploring the lush hills of his estate, swimming in the ecstasy of his music or busy with our individual occupational pursuit; but most thrilling of all for both of us, although I was naturally, the most demonstrative with my glee, the opening of Erik's new Opera at the Lyric.

To the amazement of the Parisian arts community, the reclusive composer, Monsieur DuPuis and his fiancé, would attend the gala opening performance. I was certain Erik did this for me, as he had little regard for most people; however, fresh opportunities available to him at the new facility coupled with the desire to please me, seduced Erik from the deep lair of his mind.

Still, I worried about Erik. Crowds had the power to rub his fur the wrong way and he was not one to tether his irritation for long. My relief was palpable when I learned that we would be the special guests of the Lyric's new owners, an honor allowing us to arrive within mere minutes of the curtain, therefore missing the eyes of bejeweled, judgmental gawkers.

Our box was to be the best in the house, and exclusively our own. Should we wish to depart before the final curtain call, we could do so through means of a secret passage accessible from the wall behind our box, which lead along the outside wall of the facility to a side entrance on the Rue and to a waiting carriage.

The composer and his wife attending the Opera in Paris, Erik's opera; the thought was thrilling to me. I was happy and truly in love for the first time in my life. And all possible only because of the random miss-arrangement of space-time continuum!

Yet an additional unprecedented opportunity extended itself to me when, out of the blue, Erik invited me to accompany him to a rehearsal of his opera.

Enthralled by his offer, I actually squealed with delight.

Erik looked mortified.

"Gabrielle, darling, I'll not have to reprimand you like a rambunctious child during my appraisal of the performers will I, if so, I may have to re-think my offer."

I nearly laughed at his seriousness. "Oh Erik, of course I'll behave. I shall sit quietly in the shadows observing. You'll not hear a peep from me, cross my heart," I made the motions across my chest for emphasis.

The furrowing of his visible eyebrow told me that I had better.

"If you'd like, attending the rehearsal in lieu of the gala performance will be enough for me. That would save you from dealing with the unpleasantness of the public."

Erik pulled out a chair from the kitchen table to sit, and pulled me down onto his lap addressing me with affectionate seriousness, "Now Gabrielle, I promised you a night at the opera and that is what you shall have, dressed in your finest gown and jewels. Besides, the Lyric's new owners have bribed me with the commission of two new operas in the next three years. I am, if nothing else, a man of my word."

And so I found myself sitting next to Erik in the shadow of box six's thick velvet curtains as he scrutinized a rehearsal of _Le Femme du Norde_.

As far as I could discern the players in his drama were magnificent. Erik said nothing; his somber, the only indication of emotion. Judgment, I discovered, he saved for the very end.

From the shadows, Erik would stand tall and ominous in his dark cape and address the company below; his voice reprimanding and instructing with a booming resonance no less foreboding than if it were the very voice of God.

If I'd thought the rehearsal performance good, I soon learned that Erik did not.

The composer likened the lead soprano's voice as that of an owl screeching when she reached to claim her highest notes; the tenor had all the presence of a timid child, and the chorus, the timing of a down-winding cuckoo clock.

While I paid witness to Erik's stern admonitions, a well-dressed man of about thirty-five with shining black hair poked his head through the curtain of our box.

"They're coming along nicely are they not Monsieur DuPuis?" The man commented in Italian-accented French.

Erik ignored the man, choosing to remain facing the stage.

Nervously the fellow glanced at me and offered a polite smile, "Forgive my intrusion Mademoiselle, I am Signor Vincenzo, co-owner of this opera house. You must be Monsieur DuPuis' lovely fiancée," he nodded toward Erik's back.

"I am pleased to say that I am indeed, and do call me Gabrielle, Signor." I smiled sweetly hoping to diffuse Erik's indifference.

Signor Vincenzo received my outstretched hand and bent to place the customary air-kiss at my flesh.

A hint of recognition showed in his dark eyes, "We have met before have we not Mademoiselle?"

This was a man I am sure I would have remembered. He was handsome in that overly refined fashion so many men of prestige affected in the later part of the 19th century—the sort that caught your eye, but you just new he would be more interested in his own image than your needs.

"Gee, I don't think so (_great Gab, you're using slang again_…), what I mean to say is, I would have remembered a man of your importance."

"You flatter me Mademoiselle Gabrielle; it is I who would be remiss not to remember a woman of your beauty. My mind returns me to American where I visited briefly over a year ago for business in the city of New York. Is it possible that you too were in the states at the same time?"

_Yeah, it was beyond possible, it was fact. _

I affected my most sincere expression of regret, "No Signor, I am certain. Although I did indeed spend my final month in the states last June, my dead husband and I resided in Chicago, IL, nor New York. You see I am a widow and have been here in France since that time. It's simply not possible. Your eyes must have fallen on a look-alike."

Still, the Italian man's black eyes communicated disbelief; he was confident we'd had a previous encounter.

Erik's icy stare conflicted with the overly honeyed tones with which he addressed Signor Vincenzo, interrupting the man's apparent puzzlement, "My fiancée cannot possibly know you, she has only been in this country scarcely a year, Signor.

Now about your so-called opera company," Erik continued abruptly, "It is paramount they practice day and night if they do not wish to stain my good name or that of this theatre. Instructions have been administered them and I expect absolute obedience. One week from today, I shall return. Harsh words will be the least of your worries if your so called artists do not demonstrate considerable improvement."

The Italian man stiffened, put his hands behind his back and bobbed his ascent to Erik as if he were one of those little toy birds that appear to drink water."

Our Opera Company is comprised of consummate professionals, Monsieur. I assure you in one week you will be most pleased with their performance. To me, music is as important as the very air that I breathe. I do not take my chosen profession lightly."

"You'd best not. Good day, Signore Vincenzo." Erik dismissed the man with a flourish of his hand.

Signore Vincenzo ducked back through the curtains and disappeared. Erik's autocratic command of others always astounded me.

He turned to me with a disapproving glare in his emerald eyes.

"You and Signor Vincenzo have met before then?"

"Never laid eyes on the man," I countered boldly.

"But other's have often told me that I look just like someone they know; a sister, ex-girlfriend or co-worker. Everyone is purported to have a doppelganger Erik, don't you know that?"

"Unfortunate for them if they're mine," he harrumphed while he grasped my elbow, leading me out of the box, down the stairs and into the street to our waiting carriage.

Believing that you know someone who swears they have never met you is not an unusual occurrence. Signore Vincenzo's assertion that he'd met me before should not have unnerved me, but it did.

I played and re-played the files in my head, tiresomely looking for a face that could match the Italian's. Nothing, nada, zip.

Erik never spoke of the opera owner's curiosity again. I supposed he'd worked through his little bout of jealousy like the trusting fiancée he was becoming.

The paper, _L'Opinion National,_ published my piece on the ills of the women's movement in France, to which many editorials, both scathing and lauding were duly submitted.

That rehearsal for Le Femme du Norde was my first and last, Erik did not invite me to another, fine by me, as I had a gazillion things to do.

Our nuptials were a mere month away; the gala opening night of his opera, tomorrow evening.

Both events produced within me a jubilant, yet anxious sensation.

**- O -**

**_Hum…_**

**_Please drop me a review or a comment via my email on the new review feedback feature. I want to hear from you! Thanks again to my beta, Amy who shot this back to me in spite of being under the weather and to my regular readers and reviewers who keep me going. Of course lurkers and unsigned reviews are welcome too. Have a fun, safe and blessed New Year. _**

**_–Leesa _**


	47. Ch 47 Gabrielle de dame

_The newemail link is pretty cool. I revel in your reviews but I like hearing from you personally. It's fun to talk to other POTO lovers. If you are checking this out for any reason, drop me a review. I've had some useful; and entertaining ones lately…Thanks!_

**Erik and Gabrielle attend a rehearsal of Le Femme du Norde and meet the mysterious co-owner of the Lyric Opera House.**

**Ch 47 Gabrielle de dame**

Sleep eluded me. Whenever my subconscious dipped into a deeper realm of sleep, my conscious mind brought before me a series of thoughts and images to which, in the wee hours, I had no control over. Would my new gown fit properly, would my excitement over tonight's events find a way to embarrass Erik, had I mailed wedding invitations to everyone on Erik's brief list, and why do I feel odd whenever Signor Vincenzo's face floats before me?

The bedside clock read 6:22, might as well get on with my day. After sliding from the beneath the sheets, I walked over to the open doors of the master bedroom balcony.

12 September, 1877 was dawning clear and cool with a low veil of fog seeping from the forest and clinging to the pastures below. I closed the French doors against the chill and contemplated ways to clear the fog in my head.

We'd leave for Paris at 4:30. Could I squeeze in a quick nap around 2:00? Hopefully, but for now, coffee was what I needed.

I wrapped a robe over my thin silk gown, shuffled my feet into slippers and headed for the kitchen.

Erik hadn't made it to bed last night. He could be anywhere, the library, music room or his secret sub-terrain hideaway that I wasn't supposed to know of.

Passing the library on my way to the kitchen, I peered into the darkened room. I had found Erik. He lay flat on his back on the Persian rug, coat open, cravat absent, shirt unbuttoned and a small velvet pillow tucked beneath his head.

Never wake a sleeping artist, I thought and resumed my quest for coffee.

Taking great pains to be quite, I ground the coffee beans and heated water for the press pot. Once steeped and ready, I poured a considerable cup of inspiration, flavoring it with cream, vanilla and a teaspoon of sugar, then eased out a chair to sit and enjoy my brew.

Staring into the patterns made by the cream as I stirred, I pondered what may have caused Erik's sleepless night.

His opera was ready, opening-night ready. The prospect of commingling with the crowds would be cause for jitters, yet I knew how much he relished the idea of seeing his work performed in public for the first time.

Nerves, no matter what he would have me think; the man is not immune to a bout of uneasiness.

I'd been gazing mindlessly out the kitchen window, absorbed in my thoughts when Erik kissed the top of my head.

I lurched in my chair and banged my knee on a table leg. "Damn," I cursed and rubbed my sore knee.

"A fine way to greet one's intended, my love," Erik's voice of velvet soothed my pain.

I laughed nervously, "I'm sorry, but must you sneak around so?"

"I was not sneaking around; I'm simply a quiet man. You mind was beyond the treetops, Gabrielle. What were you thinking?"

"Pondering the vast emptiness of the sky."

I craned up to receive his kiss. "Sleeping on the library rug, eh? Too much cognac or a weary mind?" I inquired.

"Pondering the vast fullness of my mind," he countered, waving me back into my chair as I made a move to fix his coffee.

"Umm, I didn't sleep much either. Perhaps it's gauche to express one's exuberance openly, but I have to tell you Erik, the thought of being by your side for tonight's Grand Gala, dressed to the nines, and hearing your genius come to life before an appreciative audience exhilarates me."

I leaned forward in case the Roux's were lurking about and whispered, "This is tres_ cool_!"

Erik smiled adoringly and reached to pat my hand, "Merci, ma belle. It is my pleasure to be the root of your joy."

"Occasionally I enjoy playing dress up, especially for you. Plus, I look forward to dining with the Giry's and meeting Meg's noble fiancé."

"Yes, well, Madame Giry is forever pestering me to bring you for a visit. She also wants my opinion of her future son-in-law. She says he seems honorable, but one can never tell with those noble types."

"If the Marquis is a blackguard beneath his finery and manners, I'll know, and then it shall be my pleasure to appeal to the Marquis' sense of survival in living up to his honorable title, or remove his person from Mademoiselle Giry's life."

This last bit Erik said with malicious intent.

"Woe to the Marquis then," I said tracing my thumb around the golden rim of the coffee cup.

"Marie told me that she and Henri would not be attending the opera. Why is that, Erik?"

Erik grinned dryly, "Marie takes care not to criticize her sister and niece for their artful occupations, yet she rather views attending such events as unnecessary indulgences of the sinful upper class. Henri prefers a more modest, earthy sort of entertainment; that is, if he were allowed."

"I see. I think it's a sad shame Marie's never seen her niece dance." I stood to pour more coffee. "Would you like breakfast now, Erik?"

"I haven't an appetite, but I suppose a bit of nutritional sustenance would be prudent. Have we any eggs?"

"I brought in fresh ones yesterday. Two poached with bread and that cherry marmalade you brought back from London?"

Familiar affection shone in Erik's eyes when he looked up to answer, "Yes, thank you my sweet."

"We've become so…domestic have we not? I find it charming, but then after all we will become man and wife within the month."

I winked at Erik and proceeded to whip up a light breakfast for the both of us.

Breakfast dishes, watering the roses and a 45 minute nap followed by a soothing bath brought me to 2:30—one and one half hour away from departing for the City of Light.

Marie offered to assist me with my toilet. Being a new age sort of girl, I accepted her generosity; I did not wish to embarrass Erik with an unknown faux pas of the wardrobe kind.

I sat at my vanity table, clad only in my chemise and stocking, applying finishing touches on my evening make-up when Marie tapped on the door.

"Entrez svp."

The door clicked open and Marie entered, her arms laden with a basket filled with pins, combs, ribbons, fixatives and other sundry items.

I eyed the basket of hair goodies warily, "My Marie, what have you there?"

"Accessories for arranging your hair, Madame. You do plan on wearing it in a proper up-do?"

"Yes, right, a simple, elegant upsweep, no Marie Antoinette stuff, alright?"

For this remark I received a disdainful look and a terse reprimand, "Madame Thomassen, the style of our unfortunate Empress died with the revolution."

"Of course, silly American." Obviously, there was no sense in explaining that I was only kidding.

"Marie, Erik prefers my hair loose; this night is for him, not the bourgeois throngs."

Marie would consent to the desire to please a man.

And so the little French woman brushed, poked, pinned and hot ironed my hair up, allowing part of it to fall down my back and small tendrils to frame my face.

When she and I both agreed on the final product, she pulled four tiny, sparkling flower pins from her apron.

"Those are pretty. Where did they come from, Marie?"

"Monsieur DuPuis gave them to me earlier today. He said they would compliment your natural beauty."

The normally serious woman smiled, "I hope you realize how deeply he cares for you, dear. Your presence in his life is a miracle from the Lord."

She caught me off guard by her sincerity and I blushed. "No, I'm the one who has been blessed."

"Now, let's fit you into your corset and gown. I've been given the strictest instructions to have you waiting in the salon by 4:00, ten minutes."

I nodded and handed her my newest corset, a devilish devise made of rose satin and whale bone. The image of Scarlet O'Hara came to mind when I grasped the bedpost and Marie pulled the laces tight.

"Uh, I can't breathe now Marie; don't you think it's tight enough?"

"Only if you feel faint, dear," she replied with true seriousness.

Who knew Madame Roux was a sadist in her spare time?

"Hands up," she quipped.

I did so obediently, allowing her to slip the gown over my coiffure with care. I shimmed into the sleeves and let it fall over my hips and to the floor, where the burgundy velvet pooled at my feet.

Marie fastened what must have been fifty little pearl buttons. She fluffed the pleated balayeuse and adjusted the few bows I had allowed the dressmaker to sew on the gown.

This was the first time I'd worn the gown Erik had commissioned in London. Cut in the latest silhouette style, the skirt was more slender and bore only one underskirt. Cap sleeves sat low on my shoulders, swooping down to a low décolletage. Silk rose buds of the darkest pink adorned the sleeves and neckline. Four matching bows rested near my knees where the slender silhouette began to flare into the hemline.

"Have you any jewels, dear?" Marie asked.

"Here." The voluminous material of my skirts rustled as I turned to fetch my ruby necklace, earrings and bracelet from their velvet boxes on the dressing table. I opened the necklace box, handing it to her.

Marie gasped audible, "These are exquisite; are they heirlooms?"

"No, gifts from my favorite composer; he really shouldn't spend so much on me you know," I replied modestly.

"Nonsense, chéri. He is your fiancé and a man of great means; it is his privilege to do so."

I slipped on the bracelet and earrings while Marie removed the necklace from the box, stood behind me and looped the jewels around my neck.

I turned to face her.

"Approach the mirror," was all she said.

In the armoire's full-length mirror, I saw the reflection of a stranger; a 19th century lady wearing a stunning evening gown, adorned with rubies, diamonds and pearls.

That _lady_ was me.

Marie placed a soft kiss on my cheek and handed me my matching satin gloves. "Gabrielle, you are a vision."

"Marie, you have been good to me; thank you."

Tears glimmered in her hazel eyes. "You are welcome, Gabrielle. It will be a blessing to have you as the lady of DuPuis Manor."

"Oh Marie, for goodness sake, I'll always be just…"

"Now," She straightened up and interrupted my musings. "Make haste Madame, lest you be late. Monsieur is expecting you downstairs."

Expelling a hefty breath of anxiety, I moved toward the door, and then spun back, abruptly smacking against Marie.

"Oohf! So sorry, I need my smelly-good," I nabbed the atomizer from the dressing table and spritzed my neck and wrists with the fragrance Erik had copied for me from the bit of scent remaining in a bottle of my favorite 20th century perfume.

"Rapidement, Madame!" The French woman practically pushed me out of the door.

Gingerly I made my way down to the salon with Marie behind me making sure I did not trip over my hemline.

A pale glow spilled into the hallway from the salon, signifying the season's first fire in the hearth there.

I froze at the entrance to the ornate parlor. There, leaning against the marble mantle, admiring the color from a glass of fine red wine was Erik's elegant form.

And oh Lordy, did I desire him.

Dressed in finely woven black wool and velvet tails, a burgundy waistcoat, which surprisingly matched my gown, and a formal white cravat wound about his neck, he looked perfect, mask and all.

Upon hearing the swish of my skirts, Erik raised his eyes from the wine. Eyes the color of brilliant peridot eyes burned into me.

Our eyes met and locked instantly.

"Gabrielle – come my beauty," lured Erik's opulent, seductive voice.

For the first time in my life, I obeyed a man without question. If he'd told me to strip naked and run through the Arc de Triomphe singing Yankee Doodle Dandy, I would have happily.

With an elegant sweep of his arm, Erik unfurled his leather clad hand, offering it to me. I reached to clasp it in my silken one.

"Gabrielle, my love," he breathed.

With a slight cock of his eyebrow, he held the goblet out to me. I nodded and accepted, corralling myself to take a lady like sip rather that the nerve-calming gulp that I really wanted.

Erik brought his other hand up to my cheek, stroking it so lightly with his long, graceful fingers, I melted inside.

"My lovely bride, do you realize how stunning you are tonight?"

"Erik, you look pretty fine yourself," I managed.

Confusion fluttered across his features, and he shrugged, "Fine is all that an ugly man can expect to be and it is more than enough for me, my dear."

"Oh Erik, no! I meant fine as in fabulous, magnificent, _desirable_. Me and my insidious 20th century wording—hello mouth, meet Mr. Foot again. Forgive me sweetheart."

Erik laughed at me with subdued élan, "Perhaps I shall someday learn to decipher all of your slang, eh?"

"Perhaps I should learn to abolish the other-worldly slang and embrace your 19th century conventions."

"Whatever for? I adore your unique quirks, my dear!"

"For tonight, I shall be your properly behaved fiancée," I smiled.

"Pity."

"There's ample time for misbehaving later. Let's go hot-stuff," I handed the wine glass back to him.

"Indeed, my foxy lady," he said seriously, trying out some of what he'd heard while listing to my MP3 selections.

I snorted into the collar of my velvet opera cape and could not contain my giggles for the full five minutes it took Erik to lead me to our waiting brougham.

"What is it, woman?" he demanded, extending his hand to help me into the small carriage.

"Fits of glee my clever man," I laughed and settled against his powerful form.

"Off to the opera!" Erik said clicking the carriage horse into action.

I wondered to myself what grand adventure would meet us there.

- 0 –

**_The premier of Erik's opera will be worth the wait, I promise! Please email me a review, brief or otherwise. Thanks Amy (the Beta) and you, my readers and reviewers._**

_**-Leesa**_


	48. Ch 48 Madame’s Council

_Welcome, please review, you readers, lurkers and regulars. I adore you._

_-Leesainthesky_

_Before the Fall Gala premier of Erik's newest Opera, Gabrielle and Erik stop have dinner with the Giry women and Meg's fiancé…_

**Ch 48 Madame's Council**

Meg Giry's fiancé, the Honorable Marquis de Lille, resided on the fashionably posh Boulevard des Capucines, naturally.

From the moment of our arrival, someone was attending to us at all times, from the footmen, to doormen, to the butler and beyond. The little ballerina would soon be living in high style.

Once ushered into the main salon where our hosts waited, the butler announced us as Monsieur Erik DuPuis and Madame Gabrielle Thomassen. Bows and curtseys were exchanged, and then Erik and I settled onto a tailored leather sofa. As a matter of habit, unmarried couples did not normally sit close together, but Erik and I were not your normal couple. Not that we strived to be unconventional, but often we just were.

Meg and her mother sat in twin leather chairs with only a round table separating them, while the Marquis stood.

One never knows what to expect in a person of noble descent. Some are wealthy, titled and boorish, while others are handsome and unassuming; the latter I found a rarity. The Marquis seemed amiable enough, with light brown hair, greenish eyes and a polite humor.

"Finally, I've the distinction of meeting the renowned composer and his fiancée; welcome to my home," the Marquis offered.

"Marquis de Lille, the pleasure belongs to my fiancée and me."

"Please, do be comfortable. We dine in a little while, but first, let us enjoy refreshment and talk. My dear Margaret and her lovely mother have filled me with stories of your considerable genius, Monsieur, tales of which I am certain hold considerable license." He smiled at Meg who turned an instant shade of pink.

I took a sidelong glance at Erik, now sitting straight backed and sober next to me. I knew he was not thrilled to hear that his friends from those underground days at the Opera Garnier had been chatting about him in his absence.

"Stories about me? I cannot imagine what good anecdotes these two dear ladies could possible have on me. Madame Giry took me in briefly as a young orphan boy, well before I ventured off to find my fortune as an architect. When I returned to Paris, I found that her husband had died fighting the Italians. She was left to raise her little blonde-haired daughter…"

"Who you teased mercilessly with grasshoppers and other fearsome creatures," Meg chided light-heartedly.

"Shall I see if you've recovered from your fears, Mademoiselle?" Erik returned with equally feigned emotion.

"Do not even jest about such things Erik; you traumatized me enough as it was, Monsieur."

"This from a child whose poor mother pulled her back from the rat infested lower levels of the opera house by her ears."

This garnered a hearty laugh from around the room.

"Yes Marquis, this demure French lady whom you've chosen as your future bride was once quite the little imp," said Madame Giry.

"Mama, that is not true!" Meg protested indignantly.

"I only hope it is partly true dear; I do relish a girl with spirit," said the Marquis.

"Well alright, bluestocking-boy; way to say 'I like to play'," I whispered to Erik, who promptly nudged me to lock it up.

"Beware this man's horridly droll humor, Gabrielle," cautioned Meg.

"Monsieur, will you be attending Erik's opera tonight?" I asked the Marquis.

"I regret that we cannot join you for the fall gala. My sister and her party are to arrive late this evening from Rome, where she has been perusing the ruins with her chaperone and companion. Tomorrow, however, arrangements have been made for all of us to attend."

"Wonderful. I, for one, can't wait to witness Erik's genius in the flesh."

"Genius or not, we've no inkling whether or not my opera will hold up to the wagging tongues of those witless reviewers, darling. Except for perhaps that Leroux fellow," he added.

Madame Giry knit her brows at Erik, "If Europe's elite does not find considerable worth in your work, than they do not deserve your genius. Of course Le Femme will be revered. Remember how Leroux adored your previous opera, L' Avocat de Diables?"

"She is correct Erik; your scores are fresh and riveting, especially when compared with the endlessness of yesterday's French Grand Opera or the folly the many new operettas."

"Pardon me, supper is now served," interrupted yet another of the household's numerous servants.

Everyone surrendered his or her wine and brandy glass to a maid and followed the uniformed man into the main dining room, where we were seated at our assigned positions at an impossibly long table.

The majority of conversation during dinner circled around the opera, provincial versus city living, and wedding plans.

I was in need of a trip to the powder room before Erik and I departed for the opera. Madame Giry rose with me when I excused myself from the salon.

Once inside the ladies lounging area, she pulled me aside for a friendly pre-wedding chat.

"Gabrielle, may I speak with you?"

"Of course Madame, what's on your mind?"

"Your impending nuptials…have the plans for your wedding been proceeding well?"

"Absolutely. You know Erik, he wants an elegant, but very private affair and I agree completely. The invitations have gone out; my gown and his wedding suit are all but ready, and, oh yes, the flowers will come from our beautiful rose garden."

"I've no doubt that your wedding will be an elegant affair. Are you certain child, that all is as it should be?"

I could not catch where the woman was going with this, but I figured she had her reasons for the impromptu inquiry.

"Madame Giry, I'm sure you're aware of my fiancés penchant for execution. The marriage papers are already in perfect order."

"But dear…"she hesitated and wrapped a slender, pale hand around my wrist, drawing me further into the shadows of the small room.

"What is it, Madame?" I was beginning to worry.

"It is Erik— you are happy with one another, no?"

"Why of course! I wouldn't consent to marriage if I didn't think him a wonderful, loving man, Madame."

"How is his…temper, Gabrielle? What I mean is, is he in control of his moods? Erik was always one to swing from dark to light in the blink of an eye. Often times he frightened the devil out of me with his unprovoked ranting."

Ah, she feared that the phantom Erik would come after me.

"Madam Giry, Erik still has a blazing temper, but he's never, ever threatened me with bodily harm. More often than not, he calms down quickly and apologizes. I don't think he is the same man who once haunted the Paris Opera."

She gasped wide eyed at my admission of such knowledge.

I held up my palms and shook my head. "Madame Giry, I know about the Phantom, the gypsies, of Persia, and of your saving grace. I know more about Erik than almost anyone, save The Daroga and perhaps Christine."

"You _know_? Mon Dieu!" she whispered. "But you must _never_ speak of these things to anyone, Gabrielle; they could mean the end of him!"

"I would never endanger Erik, I love him madly. I sometimes think he is more afraid of my freewheeling American ways than I am of his dark and perilous past. We hold each other's deepest secrets locked away in our hearts."

She eyed me warily before resuming, "Then it is surely by the very hand of God that you have found each other. Erik deserves patience, understanding and love in immeasurable amounts."

"Sit for a moment, please Madame—if you have time." I motioned to the small cluster of King Louis chairs and a chaise provided for ladies in need of a rest.

"Certainly, the men always expect women to dawdle with their primping." I opted to sit on the chaise while Madame Giry chose the King Louis chair. I leaned forward anxious for the serious woman to continue.

"I feel you must know…Erik, he was a good boy, mischievous if not often bored. An intellect such as his requires stimulation."

"Don't I know, Madame…"

"I discovered him at a gypsy fair, where he was displayed as the Devil's Child. I assisted his escape from that transportable hell and hid him in the bowels of the Opera house.

I nodded for her to continue.

"At first he was reticent. I provided food, clothing, and anything else he wished. What I could not find within the Opera, I would purchase with my meager allowance. Naturally, I did not divulge this to him. Erik showed his gratitude by playing tricks on the ballet rats that would pick on me and entertain me with some of his magic tricks. Then one day he simply vanished. When I stepped into my toe-shoes for practice that morning, there was a note folded within. It read, '_Fear not my brave ballerina, we shall meet again_.' I was terrified for Erik, and spent the next eleven years praying for his safety and salvation."

"Am I correct in saying that he returned after wandering about Persia and Europe, honing his trade as an architect?" I interjected.

"Yes, but when Erik resurfaced into my world, much had changed. I had been married, became a mother and then a widow, and had just begun my tenure as assistant to the ballet mistress. Erik claimed he was weary of the world and wished to build his domain, his kingdom as he called it, within the walls of the Paris Opera house. There in the fifth level, across the lake, he composed the fateful Don Juan Triumphant."

"Most assuredly, Erik never speaks of the piece, but I am aware of the saga surrounding it. Forgive my interruption, Madame, continue please."

"When Christine Daae's father passed on, I brought her to Paris where she flowered into a lovely young girl. Erik, sensing her sorrow over losing her father and upon hearing her exceptional talent, took her under his wing."

"As the angel of music…"

"Yes. I can assume you know the rest, Gabrielle."

"What a life of hell for our damaged genius, eh Madame Giry?"

"Indeed." Her eyes pled for my compassion.

I reached over and placed my hands reassuringly upon hers, "Look Madame, I can only guess that Christine loved Erik in her own way, but wasn't she a very tender young woman with little experience of the world?"

"Or of men with volatile tempers and vicious mood swings. Her father and her childhood friend and future husband, Raoul, were kind and gentle men. They had had the benefit of a decent life filled with love and friendship."

"I can imagine Erik must have scared the stockings right off the poor girl."

"The only good rising from the ashes of the Opera disaster was a rapid maturity for both Erik and Christine."

"Humm," I sat thinking of what to say next; so many questions swam in my head.

"One thing I am not clear about Madame Giry; how did Erik survive the manhunt and come to own his estate?"

"Erik escaped ahead of the mob to the apartment of his friend and conscience, the Persian."

"Ah yes, The Daroga. Interesting man…"

"He and I formed an alliance to assist Erik in rebuilding his life. We convinced him that he had only two choices left him; to descend further into his personal hell and die, or to rise up and claim his true life as the Frenchman he was born to be. The manor house was in an unassuming location outside of Paris. Erik had amassed a considerable fortune while in Persia and with investments of his opera house _salar_y. Arrangements were made to procure the house and other necessary accoutrements to begin Erik's new life."

"My bonnet's off to you both. It seems that our Erik has been reborn."

"But you must be mindful of his temper dear; I know it lurks beneath the surface of his cool veneer. He is also a master of hiding his true feelings as a means of self preservation. Do not allow him to hurt you when he does not respond as other men do."

"I know, Madame. Erik is not equipped to decipher human intent, but rest assured we're working on it," I smiled.

"Erik does possess wisdom, the will to succeed and he has tremendous heart, albeit badly broken. Please Madame, promise me that you will not be hasty to judge him when he is at his most difficult. And should you need a sympathetic ear, you must come to me. I am always here for you, dear."

"Thank you Madame Giry. I'll remember your generous offer should I need a break from—life at the manor." We both smiled knowingly at each other.

"I had better return or we'll get a good taste of Erik's ire for making him late to his own opera."

We both stood and proceeded back to the salon.

- 0 -

_**Yes, they're going to the opera next and there will be surprises to come…Please review for me. Thanks to Amy the beta.**_

_**-Leesa**_


	49. Ch 49 Woman In The Box

**_Gaband Erik have made it to the Lyric Opera House. What awaits them besides Erik's sublime music?_**

**Ch 49 Woman In The Box**

As an entertainment reporter in Chicago, I had covered many an opening night, grand gala and posh affair. Years of world traveling for work and education had still not prepared me for the opulence of a 19th century Grand Gala opera.

Erik guided the brougham past lines of carriages waiting to discharge their gilded occupants for a night of hobnobbing among the well heeled and titled admirers of cutting edge opera.

The air crackled with an energy that even Erik could not ignore.

"My word, Monsieur de Montpensier told me the house would be filled, but I had not lingered on the number of actual bodies—impressive indeed."

I twisted my neck around to catch the last bit of excitement on the Place Vendôme as Erik drove the brougham around to a more secluded entrance where Monsieur de Montpensier, the Lyric's co-owner and manager, had promised to be waiting to escort us to our box.

Glancing around warily, Erik scoured the narrow street for signs of danger. Only when he spied Monsieur de Montpensier leaning out of an open door did he pull up the reins to the carriage.

"Ah, Monsieur DuPuis, there you are!" Montpensier leapt from the door to greet Erik. "Welcome to my opera house, monsieur."

Erik climbed from the driver's seat and the men met with a bow. Montpensier then offered his hand to me in assistance, freeing me to maneuver my skirts safely through the minefield of sloppy puddles from yesterday's heavy rain.

"Our stable manager will look after your brougham and horse personally; you and your lovely fiancé need only bother with enjoying a splendid evening at our fine new opera house."

Montpensier indicated a willowy fellow of about thirty standing nearby awaiting instruction. Erik handed the care of his rig over to the stable manager and followed us through the wooden door leading into a back hall, which, empty as it was, trembled with the sounds of preparation for tonight's musical spectacle.

After barring the door behind us, Monsieur de Montpensier began to expound upon how honored he was to open one of Erik's new operas at the Lyric.

"Monsieur DuPuis is a true vanguard among composers, Madam Thomassen," the man informed me, as if I knew nothing whatsoever about my fiancé's occupation. I simply nodded in polite acquiescence, not speaking in hopes that he would hurry up and seat us as my new slippers had begun to pinch the fire out of my little toes.

"Please follow me. This staircase leads up to the boxes, and do watch your step." He turned to caution us as we ascended the narrow staircase. I imagined box attendants scurrying up and down the narrow passage effortlessly in the course of their evening's work.

At the top of the stairs, light stabbed the dim stairwell when a woman, dressed modestly in black, pushed open the single arched door. She started at the sight of our little group. "Pardon me, Monsieur de Montpensier," she said placing her hand at her throat.

"Think nothing of it Madame Varese," he said, banishing her misgivings with a casual wave of his hand. "If you would please, promptly deliver a bottle of fine champagne to box six. Be certain the box is well tended to as the composer and his fiancé will be my guests for this evening's performance."

The woman hurried on her way and we were ushered into the mezzanine hall.

This new opera house, the Lyric, was amazing. Reminding me of a famous theatre I'd once visited while covering the Kentucky Derby, the Lyric surpassed the charm and grandeur of the Louisville Palace significantly.

Modeled on the Spanish Baroque motif, the Lyric featured many arches and arcades, turrets and balconies, little coves and niches, often occupied with sculptures of Gods, Goddesses and birds. High above the Spanish treasures in the main lobby, a curved, vaulted ceiling bore the sculptures of hundreds of great personages.

Monsieur de Montpensier ushered us to box six, parting the box's dark blue velvet curtains for entrance.

"Whatever your needs are, do not hesitate to request it of Madame Varese. Should you experience any difficulty with anything at all you must call on me immediately, although I do not anticipate such an occurrence. Monsieur DuPuis, Madame Thomassen, I bid you a pleasant evening."

He then backed out with a bow, letting the curtains fall softly after him.

Box six afforded its occupants the best view in the house; close enough not to require opera glasses and every angle of the stage was visible. Beautifully ornate chairs upholstered in thick blue velvet trimmed in gold and a small gold leaf table sat to the side for holding one's reticule, opera glasses or refreshments.

"Nice digs!" I whispered.

"Please my little amusing one, sit here," Erik chuckled and patted the seat on the left. Erik preferred to sit at my right so he could hide in the shadow of the box's swagged curtain.

Removing the opera cape and carefully sweeping my long skirts under, I sat with my knees turned in his direction, seeking as much contact as my layers of clothing would afford. Erik handed me a program from the little table and then took my hand.

I looked at him, wide-eyed.

"Are you nervous, chéri?"

"Me? No, I'm excited! I cannot believe that I, Gabrielle Thomassen of 21st century Chicago, am here at this theatre, sitting next to my fiancé and lover, Erik DuPuis, aka POTO, composer of the evening's masterpiece—God I'm a sucker for a rock star."

With a tilted head, he observed me with electric green eyes, his furrowed brow speaking more of confusion than disapproval. "Rock star, Madame? Whatever is that—a sort of architectural reference?"

I leaned forward to take his hands in mine, "I suppose it could be, however the type of which I speak is a charismatic artist at the pinnacle of his success, worshiped by the multitudes for both talent and sexual prowess."

"I am hardly the archetype for such a man," Erik snorted.

"Think on it for a moment, Erik. We know that you know you are a musical genius, and you can't deny your considerably strong charismatic powers of persuasion. And you must realize I struggle to act the lady and keep my hands off of you. If I were in charge of additions to the English dictionary, it would be your name after the word _virile."_

"Dear God woman, I must truly be the sorcerer I was once accused of if I have so completely managed to brainwash you."

My words must have invoked Erik's sense of modesty, because he appeared slightly flushed.

"Pardonnez-moi Monsieur, it is I, Madame Varese, with your champagne. May I enter?"

"Please, Madame," Erik said with more enthusiasm than was necessary for such a mundane task.

The attendant took but a flash to situate our champagne and crystal glasses on the table. She poured a splash for Erik's approval.

"A fine vintage, this will do nicely."

"If you'll not be needing anything else right now, I'll be checking back after act one."

"That won't be necessary, Madame. I am sure we shall be fine with just our privacy," Erik replied with polite firmness.

"Of course, Monsieur, enjoy your evening," she nodded at both of us and disappeared through the curtains.

The theatre was now full and I could hear the strains of the orchestra tuning up in the pit.

Erik scanned the expanse of the house, his masked side partially hidden in the shadow of one of the velvet drapes.

I took the opportunity to glance over the program. Printed on fine ecru parchment, the raised black lettering announced **_Le Femme du Nord._**

On the inside were the words,_ Opéra en prologue avec trois actes_

_par Erik DuPuis / Musique de Erik DuPuis_.

Erik feigned indifference to seeing his name and work displayed in print, but I felt like a proud mother hen. Erik's talent was unparalleled and grossly over due for professional regard.

"Oh Erik," I nearly pointed to the man now appearing on stage in front of the gold curtain. "There's that weird Monsieur Vincenzo. For some reason he creeps me out."

Erik considered the man silently before commenting aloud. "Yes, he seems amenable enough, but after I introduced you during rehearsal, he's been hanging about and trying to stir up conversation about you. Are you certain you have never laid eyes on this man, Gabrielle?"

"No, never; I mean, sure, maybe he saw me at market one day, he might visit the bakery every Monday and Wednesday as I do and he's seen me there. I haven't made any notice of him. If he's aware that you and I are to be married soon, why on earth he would continue to pry? It doesn't make sense, Erik. I hope he's not a stalker, I haven't had any of those since I inadvertently left the entertainment business two centuries forward," I snorted.

Erik affected a dark foreboding glare, "Well, if that man does not cease his meddling, he shall meet a most unpleasant reminder to rethink his manners."

"With your vigilance, I shouldn't worry, should I dear?"

"Not in the least, my darling Gabrielle. I would as soon split his skull as let him harm a hair on your pretty head," Erik soothed leaning over to place a properly chaste kiss on my cheek.

Monsieur Vincenzo was waving his hands in an attempt to shush the buzzing crowd. Once moderately quiet, he bowed deeply and launched into his rehearsed speech about how wonderful it was to have everyone's patronage of the new opera house, and of the Opera from Paris's newest contemporary composer, the enigmatic Erik DuPuis. "And now, Mesdames et Messieurs, I am pleased to give you, l'extraordinaire Le Femme du Nord d'opéra."

With that, brief applause followed the prelude and finally, the rising of the curtain.

Erik remained calm and indifferent when the curtain rose to act one, whereas my heart leapt with my every breath.

I smiled at Erik and winked. "Thank you for this, Erik."

His appreciative smile back was worth its weight in gold, "My pleasure, my little dove; you may heap your gratitude upon me later."

Later indeed; I suddenly had a most lascivious thought.

Le Femme du Nord is the tale of a young orphan girl who finds refuge and guidance from an unlikely benefactor. We followed her trail of woe from the idyllic Norwegian seaside through the gutters of Paris, to the stages of Italy and back again. Eventually, she turns from her savior's caring aegis to a life of her own foolish choosing.

The opera's dissonant elements transitioned effortlessly from the gritty bleakness of humanity at it's most vile to the soaring pinnacle of glory, cumulating in a bittersweet depiction of how mankind's refusal to recognize true beauty leads to its ultimate destruction, all taking place within the inverse environments of a Norwegian fishing village and the stages of Italy's most celebrated opera houses.

Erik found a way to work with the instruments so they mimicked the howl of an electric guitar within his most vehement songs, mixing them with ethereal melodies, plunging the listener into the depths of despair then lifting them upward to heavenly bliss.

It was the musical version of The Cyclone at Coney Island.

Opera is something one learns to appreciate, that is, if you were born a twentieth century Gen-Xer. In elementary school, I attended daytime productions of the Chicago Orchestra's Making Music concerts. Mostly a sway to get out of class at first, I became interested in the parts played by the individual instruments.

As I moved into the arts, I learned to appreciate the discipline of opera, but quite frankly, I often could not understand the soprano when she hit her highest notes. After hearing modern music on my mp3, Erik gained a better understanding of how my musical sensibilities could be so vastly different from his, and he had patiently explained the anatomy of an opera to me.

I marveled at the lead soprano's ability to throw her body and voice into the swirling emotions of her character. Erik insisted on a singer capable of more than the popular style of singing fortissimo; he demanded a diva with the substantial ability to sing pianissimo as well.

The tenor was uncharacteristically slender, but when he sang, his voice was rich and powerful.

"Erik, how much influence did you wield in casting the lead roles?" I leaned in to ask.

"A considerable amount; if a director does not agree to my suggestions, then I will not allow them to produce my work. Only I know what is required from a singer's instrument for my characters. For example, Signor Bononcini is an exceptional young tenor whose talents were being suppressed in smaller works of comic opera. It was by sheer chance that I happened upon him one afternoon during rehearsals at an opera house in Venice, where I'd been negotiating a contract for an earlier work of mine. Mademoiselle Micheau, my fine soprano, I had chance to witness in the role of Gilda in Rigoletto. Is she not superb?"

"I enjoy the way her voice floats from soft and lilting to emotionally powerful. That's a rare quality in a younger singer isn't it, Erik?"

"Indeed, Gabrielle, it is. Murielle is an exceptional new talent with the ability to handle a variety of styles from ssoubrette to dramatic coloratura."

"All I know is she is one of the few sopranos I can understand when she hits the high notes." I commented.

"You lack a well devolved operatic ear, something that comes with time and experience…especially after what I have heard of _your_ music, dear." He patted my knee, leaving it there to rest, and turned his attention back to the stage.

From the corner of my eye, I would find Erik smiling at a well sung aria or closing his eyes in disgust over a misstep within the chorus or an ill-timed lowering of a French flat.

On occasion, I would remark on a particularly ridiculous looking outfit on an audience member.

"Bear in mind, Erik, I am making fun of their fashion sense, not those characteristics over which they have no control."

"Then I cannot possibly object to the fairness of your game Gabrielle, in fact, that fellow on the front row with the tall hair is most strange. What do you think he coiffures his hair with—a dung shovel?"

"Or maybe that woman with the feathers adorning her hair; I only hope the poor soul behind her paid less for that seat," I whispered in Erik's ear.

"If she has any luck, that chicken is a music lover and will bless her with a dozen eggs by the end of the second act."

"Ha," I blurted, quickly throwing one gloved hand over my mouth and swatting at him with the other. "Stop it before I embarrass us both."

He granted me a hearty laugh, "Forgive me dear, perhaps I have found yet another calling as comedian."

"I wouldn't quit my day job if I were you, Erik."

We settled back into watching the opera.

At one point, when my mind wandered as it often does when I must sit for lengths of time, I glanced around the auditorium and found myself staring directly into curious eyes of a stunning dark haired woman. She sat four boxes to the right of us where the rows began to curve around to the other side of the house.

Finding herself caught in such indecorous activity, the woman quickly averted her eyes. An elderly man, who I took for her father, wealthy husband, or special friend, sat beside her.

What was up with these odd people and their sudden interest in me? Weird—first Monsieur Vincenzo, and now this woman. Small wonder Erik doesn't favor these aristocratic types; they're uncommonly nosey.

Still, this dark haired woman, there was something naggingly familiar about her. It was her eyes; I'd seen them before, but where?

"Geez Gab, has your sanity been assimilated back into the twenty-first century?" I thought silently, as I watched Erik pretend not to enjoy his night at the opera.

- 0 -

_**Ooh, what's up with the scary man? Stay tuned to find out. Thanks for checking out the fic. Please, please send me your two cents worth (or 5, or 20...)**_

_**Sincere thanks to all.**_

_**-Leesa**_


	50. 50 Nuit d' Opera

_**Finally, they're at the opera! Thank you all for staying with this fanfic, it's my first and your feedback helps tremendously. Plus, I enjoy hearing for you! Feel free to email me too. **_

_**Warning: this chapter earns an H for HOT.**_

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**Ch 50 50-Nuit d' Opera**

Should I have stuck my tongue out at her? Erik would have undoubtedly frowned on that. The last thing I wished for was to reward rudeness with regard. Most that gaped at Erik were not so obvious; perhaps I should seek her out and kick her petite little ass.

I considered the point that the woman starring into our box could have been engaged in the same sort of folly Erik and I had indulged in earlier.

"At least we weren't gawking at the people whom we found curious."

"Darling, are you of this world?" Erik must have taken notice of my far away eyes.

"Oh yes, I'm here sweetheart," I smacked myself mentally and smiled up at Erik lovingly. "Though I must say; your music does have the power mesmerize."

This must have pleased Erik, because a smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he turned his attention back to the opera.

Act two was nearing the end where Signor Donizetti reveals his considerable passion for Talena in a fiery duet. Donizetti and Talena's ladies chaperone were engaged in a recitative concerning his inappropriate feelings for the young Norwegian woman.

Donizetti pushes the chaperone out of his way and bursts into Talena's dressing room. It is here where the duo entangles their voices within the notes of a searing duet.

If one closed their eyes merely to listen, they would become bewitched by the music.

Erik's score titillates the senses from the first subtle caress, taking them on a journey of sustained foreplay before exploding into a frenzied climax.

Clearly, these patrons were victims of Erik's musical prowess.

I had a naughty idea.

I reached over to retrieve my reticule from the table and accidentally dropped it on the floor of the box.

"Opps," I bent down to fetch the little purse but rather than return to my chair, parked my chin on Erik's knees and peered up into his face beguilingly.

Taking a quick scan of my face, Erik arched his eyebrow quizzically.

I answered his silent question by trailing one lace-covered finger up the length of his thigh and across the bulge of his crotch.

Erik's interest was immediately apparent and I took it as an invitation to proceed. Not moving my eyes from his, I made haste with the buttons and reached inside his fine wool trousers to retrieve the object of my affection. Thank goodness, my love likes to go commando, fumbling with under-things within the confines of the box would have been daunting.

Erik possessed a beautiful cock; long, smooth and full, it demanded immediate attention. I lowered my head and enveloped him eagerly with my mouth. Erik closed his eyes, and we both lost ourselves in the ebb and flow of the music.

Familiar with the score from hearing the composer laboring over it in his music room, I followed the score with my tongue, swirling it around Erik's throbbing flesh in time with the music.

From Donizetti's first vocal caress to the swelling thunder of his mounting lust, my mouth bobbed up and down faster and faster.

From the point of anyone looking our way, Erik simply appeared to be engrossed in the music, which was partially true. One hand griped the ledge of the box tightly, the other he laid on my head, stroking my curls appreciatively and moaning softly.

On the stage below, the singers were building up to the final crescendo; up in box six, Erik was nearing his. Lurching briefly in his chair, he crushed his hips into the depths of my wet mouth, furiously expelling his seed in concert with the tenor's final wrenching notes.

The curtain closed on act two.

Erik opened his eyes. He appeared somewhat dazed, but not in the least unhappy.

From his coat pocket, he withdrew a silk handkerchief and dabbed at the corners of my mouth. I tucked him away and re-seated myself, affecting the posture of a proper lady.

When I looked out across the auditorium, I saw her again— the angelic, dark haired woman starring, her eyes wide in disbelief at both of us. Had she guessed what I'd been up to?

Suddenly I felt the burn of a blush roll up from my belly.

_Who the hell is she_?

I looked to Erik, now sporting a satisfied glow, and tipped my head toward her box. "Sweetheart, that woman over there, do you know her?"

When Erik turned his head to look, she'd vanished.

"What woman, Gabrielle?"

"I swear to you, Erik, there's been a dark haired woman sitting in that box who has been starring at us a good portion of the evening."

"Perhaps she is envious of your beauty my darling."

"A lovely compliment, but highly unlikely, she was beautiful almost luminous. Her expression wasn't that of curiosity, it was more like…as if she knew one of us."

Erik shrugged his shoulders as if to say who cares, so I dropped the subject deciding instead to focus on the nuisances of tonight's performance. I remarked about the hall's excellent acoustics and picked Erik's mind on the difference between the various forms of popular opera and of his predictions of music's evolution in the next fifteen to twenty or so years.

Erik claimed that as attention spans of the average audience became shorter, the demand for abbreviated forms of opera, theatre, and so on would increase. However this tasteless dernier cri, would also lead to a demand for pieces of superior quality within the circles of the true opera aficionado. This is where my brilliant genius and his keen talent fit in.

The days of French opera are numbered, but my fear is that music shall be reduced to turgid bits of notes with all the depth of children's nursery rhymes. Of course, much of this is dependant upon whether or not mankind satiates his need for warmongering or acquiesces to a time of peace. All arts are dependant upon sociology, my dear Gabrielle."

"Indeed Monsieur Freud, you've no idea how on target you are with your predictions."

"Simple historic observation, dear, the past merely repeats itself, but with exceedingly dire consequences."

"Yes, by 2005, we will have devised many horrific ways of annihilating our fellow man and woman."

Our conversation was cut short by the strains of the orchestra signaling the audience to the start of act three.

Erik and I turned out attention back to the final act of Le Femme du Nord.

So engrossed was I in the pain and passion of Donizetti and the beautiful and tragic Talena, I forgot about Ms. Nosey in box two until three quarters of the way through the act. I snuck a peek in the direction of her box to find that she was partially hidden behind one of the thick velvet curtains.

Upon completion of the third and final act, Erik and I took quick leave of our seats. The lobby would soon fill with throngs of opera fans heading out of the theatre. Erik had no interest in rubbing elbows with them but he did wish to walk me through the entry so I could take in the great hall of famous heads immortalized in plaster fifty feet over our heads in the ceiling.

Gently placing a gloved hand under my elbow, he steered me across the mezzanine, down the main staircase and into the sparkling new lobby of the Opera Lyric.

The lobby was breathtaking. I was a giddy young woman, dizzy with love and enchanted with the elegance and opulence of all that I heard, saw, and felt at this Grand opera gala.

Even though Erik possessed his usual aloof and guarded countenance, his eyes glowed brightly. The performance had gone well, those few who knew him as the compositeur grand deferred to him with reverence in spite of the curious mask, nodding and smiling at him as we hurried by them.

All was well with our world.

To Erik's relief, only a few patrons milled about the lobby, so we breezed effortlessly across the marble floor making out way to the hallway that would lead us to the side exit where our Brougham would be waiting for us.

"Monsieur DuPuis," A woman's gilded voice called out.

Erik's light grip on my arm increased. He glanced at me as if to confirm that I too, had heard the feminine plea.

"Maybe someone wants the artist's autograph?" I teased.

"Erik, please, I beg of you to take pause," the woman was closer now, Erik stopped and stood rigid, he released my arm and fisted his hands, never a good sign for my darling. Slowly he turned to face the voice behind us.

"Oh Erik, do my eyes deceive me? It truly is you!" A beautiful and petite dark-haired woman held one delicate hand against her heart. Smiling broadly, she approached us and offered a brief curtsey.

I recognized her as the same woman who spent the majority of tonight's performance staring across the opera house at me. Our eyes locked in a brief moment of concession.

Erik did not respond, frankly he resembled a deer frozen in place by the headlights of an approaching car.

My eyes ping-ponged between his face and that of the mystery woman, hoping for a clue to her identity.

Always the forward one, I responded first, "You must forgive him, I believe tonight's overwhelmingly positive reception of his opera has rendered my fiancé voiceless. Am I correct Erik, darling?" I nudged him inconspicuously.

"Indeed, of course, forgive my rudeness." Erik snapped out of his trance and retrieved the woman's hand for the customary buss. Erik voice saturated with glacial courtesy.

"Comtess de Chagny, I am pleased to introduce to you my fiancée, Madame Gabrielle Thomassen of America. Gabrielle, this is a dear friend from my past, the Comtess Christine de Chagny." By the sound of the icicles hanging from his words, Erik did not seemed at all pleased.

"Charmed," the woman acknowledged me with a tip of her head, chestnut curls bouncing. I curtseyed as is the custom with noble women, "Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Comtess."

"Do call me Christine," her honeyed voice insisted.

"You may call me Gabrielle."

"What a lovely name, your parents must have chosen the feminine of the archangel, Gabriel."

When I opened my mouth to reply Erik spoke in my place, linking his arm with mine he looked down into my eyes and, said, "She is indeed an angel, my angel."

Ooh good one-a gold star for you!

"'Flatterer," I said batting my eyelashes coquettishly.

Erik, you are engaged how splendid for you both. Finally, you have a soul mate.

Erik's eyes turned stormy. "Why indeed Comtess, even the most unfortunate creatures crawling about the earth have mates do they not?"

Her doe eyes expressed a sad regret, "Yes Erik but for man possessing your inner beauty, there is surely only one special mate."

I patted Erik's arm. "Well I have won the fiancé lottery with Monsieur DuPuis, a woman could not ask for a more doting husband," I interjected hoping to lighten the conversational load.

"I am surprised that your doting husband allows you from his protective sight for a single moment. Where is the Comte?"

Christine lowered her eyes, the tips of her lashes kissing her cheeks, "Sadly, Raoul perished just this past November in an unfortunate hunting accident."

Instinctively, I covered my mouth with my hand, "Oh Christine, I am most sorry for you, you are too young to be a widow."

"How kind of you, dear. We'd not even had a chance at being parents and then he was simply…gone." She bit her lip and retrieved a lace hanky to dot the tears now trickling down her lovely face.

Erik and I stood by dumbfounded while the dainty Comtess quickly composed herself.

"Forgive my impertinence on such an occasion of grandeur. Le Femme du Nord was spectacular Erik, as are all of your works. It pleases me to know that your works are receiving their proper due."

He looked down at her expressionlessly except for the hint of melancholic gratitude in his eyes.

It was then when I saw; felt a bond existing between the two of them that could never be broken.

"Erik," she continued to refer to him in the familiar, "your opera was sublime... at once subtle and understated then fiery and bold. Manifique!

"You are too kind. Christine was always my most ardent fan." He addressed me sheepishly.

"Perhaps, I could audition for your next opera. Now that I have no real obligations to the noble de Chagny family, I may do what I wish. Of course having no living males left in his line, my dear Raoul's estate has past to me."

"Audition for my opera? I suppose, yes, indeed your

"My voice has been silent for far too long. I fear the instrument is quite rusty, and desperately requires a tutor. Why, it's been six years since I've sung in public, save a few parlor performances for my husbands wealthy friends," said the little wench.

_All right sister, now you're fishing, hands off_.

"Yes, of course, if you're serious, I could, perhaps resume my tutorage."

_Huh? Did he just unwittingly agree to let that woman weasel her way into his life again?_

"Oh Erik, you are too kind to me, after all this time has passed. Perhaps I shall call upon you, that is, if I am not being too bold and assuming," she faced me when she said this, a properly groveling smile now plastered on that perfect porcelain face of hers.

Erik simply continued to stare at her as if she were an apparition. I saw the opportunity for interjection.

"Why on earth would you wish to subject yourself to the cruel rigors of the stage when you don't need to Comtess?"

"Oh dear, Madame Thomassen, I'm afraid that life has become most tedious for me since I lost my dear Raoul. Day's drag on endlessly and I simply cannot strand to languish as a bird in a gilded cage. Singing is, or, was my life—I must embrace it to truly live."

Yeah, whatever...I hear Wagner's popular opera's have lots of parts for soprano's these days. I am trying my best not to glare at her.

"Dear Christine, I've no plans for a new opera until late next year as I anticipate a goodly run with Le Femme."

"But should I wish to revive my voice, please, tell me that I may call on you considerable skills as a teacher," the corners of her big eyes pled with him hopefully. I bit my tongue.

"As always dear, I'm your obedient service. Call on me if you are serious about the endeavor."

"Do call on me if you are serious about the endeavor. I am your obedient servant."

Jealousy was not my strong suit, but something about the way she eyeballed my fiancé was working my nerves—it was time to redirect the conversation. "Christine, you're not alone are you? Ladies of your station don't venture into the night without a companion do they?"

"Oh heavens no, Gabrielle, a lady would never consider venturing out sans escort at night! It is most improper, not to say dangerous. Would you?"

I bit my tongue to stifle an ornery smile. "Why never, my dear Comtess, only the most bold and independent of women would dare attempt such an endeavor. Not I," I flashed my eyes at Erik, who chose to ignore my layered remark.

"Monsieur Beaumont is my departed husband's business partner and a dear family friend. Darrell often escorts me to these events. I adore the arts and will not forgo the pleasure. At the moment the dear man is off retrieving my gloves; I left them in the box…most careless of me. I do not know where my mind is," her laugh was a melodious little trill.

_So he's not her sugar daddy, damn_.

Erik made a quick scan of the lobby and noticed that the crown was increasing. He addressed her with a bow, "Madame, Comtess, we must take our leave, a pleasure to see you again."

"And you dear Erik, Madame Thomassen...Gabrielle, blessings and happiness to you both." Christine curtsied, and then dissolved into the rapidly infringing crowd.

With more haste than was necessary, Erik nearly dragged me through the lobby, making his way to the back hallway, which led to our waiting brougham at the side entrance.

Two more seconds and we would have been free of the drama.

"Monsieur DuPuis, please wait up a moment will you?"

It was Monsieur Vincenzo.

Dear Lord, what next?

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_**What indeed. Thanks for reading, now it's your turn; please send me your much-appreciated reviews. Thanks Amy & Kay.**_

_**-Leesa**_


	51. Ch 51 Fear and Loathing in Paris

_Thank you for the reviews on chapter 50. It garnered many reactions, all welcome. The Fan Fiction police forbid us to name names here, but I shall highlight some of the feedback: Indeed, let the games begin. No, Erik won't be a pig, just a confused man. Punjabed and stabbed with dozens of black roses? Creative and funny. Catfight? Gab would kick Christine's skinny arse!_

_For those who now hate the author, this was planned from the beginning of my story, but fear not; there will be love and happiness for our dynamic multi-century duo. Now, get out your Punjab lassos…_

**Ch-51 Fear and Loathing in Paris**

"Pretend you don't hear him Erik," I hissed in response to Monsieur Vincenzo's voice behind us. Erik narrowed his eyes and snorted when he heard the insistent man imploring him to stop. Erik halted in mid-step. We swiveled around in tandem to face the co-owner of the opera house.

"Is there a problem monsieur Vincenzo?" Erik asked with counterfeit concern.

"Oh no, no, no, Monsieur, nothing of the sort, I merely wished to congratulate you on another superb opera. From what I have gleaned, the audience is enthralled. This may well be your most engaging work to date. Why, the esteemed Vicomte Lieder has invited Monsieur de Montpensier and me to his salon on the condition that you and your fiancé accompany us."

"I'm afraid I am terribly busy Monsieur Vincenzo seeing that I am to be wed soon. Please give my sincere regrets to the Vicomte will you?"

Erik inclined his head politely at Vincenzo and made to leave when the man spoke again.

"But Monsieur DuPuis, he is the Lyric's most generous patron. It would be a grievous shame to upset the man, don't you agree?"

"Then let him ask me himself, monsieur." Erik was losing patience.

I offered the man our regrets in the form of a smile. It was then that he shot me with the night's second poison arrow.

"Oh incidentally Madame Thomassen," his said in an affably solicitous tone, "My memory of where I may know you from is coming into focus. Could you be related to a Mr. Jonathan Thomassen? He is an American and a man of significance to the scientific community, a cousin of your late husband perhaps?"

I hate it when people drop bombs like that. One always prays that one's eyes don't pop out in momentary disbelieve and ruin all hopes of maintaining a good poker face.

I feigned surprise by placing my hand over my heart and laughing indignantly, "Related to a scientist? An honorable occupation thought it is I am afraid your deduction cannot be true—my late husband's people were land Barrons, not inventors, Monsieur. Besides, I attended university and I do not recall hearing of a scientist with my husband's name. That, I'm positive I would remember…"

Erik interrupted the man's probing, "We must be moving along dear, I've a long day tomorrow with your uncle. My architectural firm is bidding a significant project and it would do me no good to be weary, good evening to you Monsieur Vincenzo." Erik bowed and then tugged me toward the door.

Moments passed like hours before we stepped through the back entrance and onto the cobblestones. I was relieved to see Erik's brougham ready and waiting.

Erik rounded the right side and stepped into the driver's seat, sliding across to offer me a hand up in to the carriage. His eyes burned phosphorus in the gas lamplight yet his demeanor was solicitously attentive, as if he felt he needed to make up for some impropriety.

"Careful my darling, there you go," he said when I'd gotten my skirts situated and settled into my seat.

He reached into a compartment behind the bench and withdrew a wool blanket. "This night has turned quite chilly. The farther we venture into the countryside, the cooler it will be. It would be tragic if you caught a chill and were bed ridden before your wedding, darling."

Erik laid the blanket over my knees and tucked it around my waist with the gentleness of a mother with her babe. He kissed my forehead.

"Comfortable dear?"

"Just perfect, thank you."

"Then let's be off."

The streets were crowded as was normal for an evening in Paris. Erik maneuvered the brougham expertly around the cabriolets, carriages and pedestrian traffic before reaching the sparsely populated perimeter of the city. There was no moon tonight and the country road leading to DuPuis manor was dark as pitch; save for the brilliance of the stars.

I knew Erik had keen night vision and often wondered if his innate abilities included infrared sight. He drove the horse and buggy effortlessly through the countryside toward the estate as if it were midday.

Erik hummed a light aria from tonight's opera and I tried to absorb myself with the beauty of his tune, however the little gerbil spinning furiously in the wheel of my brain would not allow me to lose myself in the beauty of his music and so I attempted conversation.

"Erik, your opera was beyond amazing. I think the company handled it well, don't you?"

"For the most part, yes, they were good. I left a list of instructions for Monsieur Vincenzo to pass along to the director."

"Oh, that was what you gave him before we left. I hope he does as he's told. I don't trust that weasel."

"He had better, or there will be hell to pay."

"No doubt—Erik, you would do nearly anything I asked of you, right?"

"Nearly, what sort of service do you require of me dearest?"

"Go kick Monsieur Vincenzo's ass would you please. It would make me deliriously happy." I said dryly.

Erik laughed, "Would it now? A delightful suggestion indeed; I have been mulling over the man's intrusive interest in your business Gabrielle, I never considered him the shrewdest of men, but he knows something crucial and he is playing cat and mouse with you and I do not like it." Erik's face was set in stone when he said this.

"That stuff about the scientist; my dad is a scientist whose last name is, of course Thomassen. How could he know that? God Erik you don't think Vincenzo is also a time traveler do you? Is that even possible, I mean…its not impossible is it? After all _I'm one_."

"Indeed, it is possible, though I do not think it probable, Gabrielle. He claims to be French-Italian yet there is something that doesn't ring true about the man." Erik's voice trailed off.

"You know Erik; he _is _weird in that doesn't-fit-in sort of way. Gaaah! What will I do if it's true? First your ex love interest shows up and bats her eyelashes at you then this Vincenzo dude…and this night held such promise to be the best one of both my lives…"

"Gabrielle, you worry for naught. What harm could this man cause you if he does possess knowledge of your past? Suppose that he is a time traveler, he too has secrets of which he would not wish to divulge. Do not worry about him. If he does prove to be a problem, I will deal with him accordingly."

"Erik, please, whatever you do, don't kill him, okay?"

"You think because I was a Governmental assassin that I have a permanent blood lust, Gabrielle? If I am pushed to kill it is for survival only and I've not spilled the blood of any living thing in many a year. Besides, I made a promise to a dear friend whom I've no intentions of breaking without good reason."

I could tell by the harshness in his voice that I'd managed to piss him off royally.

"No Erik, I don't think that at all," I sighed. "What I know is that many men would come close to killing anyone who threatened the life of their loved ones. However, I'm not stupid; you're a hot blooded and passionate Frenchman with a short fuse when it comes to suffering human nonsense."

I could see in the soft flame of the tiny coach lamp that his features had softened. Tonight had been an emotional merry-go-round for Erik. The anticipation of seeing his opera in public, seeing Christine and then dealing with that odd-ball Vincenzo; as freaked out as I was, I understood that Erik deserved some slack.

"Was it odd for you to see Christine again?" There, I blurted it out.

He rewarded my efforts with a brief silence and I was afraid I'd stepped into quicksand.

"Somewhat. One never knows what to say in such instances does one?"

"You know that's right. It's sad that her husband died so young and with no children to carry on the Chagny name. I know that's a big thing with you Victorian men, especially the nobles. Thank goodness she's not going to be left destitute as so many heirless widows are."

"Thank goodness," he agreed softly.

"I can see why you fell in love with her, she is beautiful, so petite, like Lennox china. And if she truly has the voice of an angel as you say, then, well— I know how you are about your music, Erik."

"Love is based on more than physical beauty and passion, Gabrielle."

"It had better be…I mean, look at us, we share enough interests to keep things amusing, but we are so different, I guess you could say a world of differences. But we like each other and we have respect and we're really good at that other thing too. Oh Erik, I love you with all that I am, I hope you realize that."

He reached for my hand and met my eyes, "Gabrielle, you need not worry about Christine. It is you that I want."

How did he know? Hell, Erik knew everything. I wanted to say: is that why your eyes lit up like the presidential Christmas tree when she mentioned auditioning for your next opera? Words I knew better than to say.

"Encountering a former love can be a sticky wicket. You never really forget them, but hat doesn't mean you would put up with their crap again for all the tea in China, as my grandmother used to say."

"Eloquently put, my dear."

"Before I forget, I want to thank you for a wonderful evening. Your sacrifice to me does not go un-noticed or unappreciated, Erik."

"Or un-rewarded." He smiled devilishly in reference to my performance in our box during the second act.

"You introduced me to an entirely new way of enjoying my music. Who could imagine that the mouth devoid of sound would make for such an excellent instrument? My music in concert with your talented mouth, Gabrielle—we must engage in another duet soon."

The man had a way of making me blush as no one else ever had before.

"I couldn't help myself. Your music is a powerful aphrodisiac, and you are so irresistible to me. I know I am forever touching your body, coming on to you, wanting to be made love to…"

The corner of Erik's mouth twisted up into a smile. He took his eyes from the road to focus on me.

"You flatter me so. To have a fascinating woman such as yourself desire the likes of me is beyond fathomable, Gabrielle, and I simple cannot get enough of you," he growled.

"I don't know Erik, sometimes I feel so suspect. Women of your time just don't do such naughty things unless they're loose Lucy's."

"Do you think me loose, Erik?"

"I do not think of you as loose, Gabrielle. I adore your passion for my body. Do feel at liberty to have me whenever the urge strikes you, darling."

I smiled up into those spectaculars jade eyes, which crinkled up at the corners merrily. I snuggled into the warmth of his cashmere cloak. "I'll take my payback when we get home tonight, that is if Monsieur DuPuis is not too tired."

"Highly unlikely," Snorted Erik in response.

The sound of hooves striking the hardened earth was the only discernable sound as we rode along in silence. It was at the turn onto the long drive leading to DuPuis Manor that I stirred from the edge of sleep. I sat up to stretch my arms and voiced a new and spontaneous thought.

"Erik, let's run off and get married tomorrow. Then I'll come back here and never leave the property again. All that I need is here. Plus, I don't even want to see or think of that jerk Vincenzo ever again."

_Or that coquet, the Comtess._

He looped his free arm around my shoulders and pulled me to him, kissing my head and holding me tightly. "If it were possible Gabrielle, I would do so gladly. Cease your fretting my love. Erik will keep you safe."

For now, Erik's loving reassurances would keep me sane.

We made feverish love that night and afterwards, being emotionally and physically depleted, fell into a deep slumber.

25 September was a brilliant and warm fall day—my wedding day. The smell of roses permeated the air. I lowered my head for a whiff of the bouquet of white and coral roses in my hands. I was dressed in my wedding finery and the time had come to meet my groom. I stole one last look in the mirror before making my way to the garden. When I turned to go, she was standing in the doorway.

"What are you doing here? This is _my_ wedding day; you've no business at our nuptials!" I nearly spat blood at the woman in the gossamer gown.

"Why my dear, it is my wedding day," she replied sweetly through rosy lips partially obscured behind a wispy veil."

"Congratulations, now get lost. This is DuPuis Manor. Erik DuPuis and I will be wed within the hour. St. Brigid's is in the village down the road," I hissed.

"Oh no dear, that is where you are mistaken. Erik has chosen me as his bride. He loves _me;_ he always has. You are merely his second choice and now that I have returned to claim what is mine, Erik does not need you, nor does he want you. Do what is right and proper and leave." Her dark curls bounced as she laughed at my expression.

I was pondering whether or not I ought remove my rings and take her down when we were interrupted.

"I am afraid she speaks the truth, Gabrielle."

I spun towards the sound of Erik's velvet voice and was astonished to see him standing there, dressed in his wedding suit, smiling at_ her_.

"Erik, tell Christine that she is delusional, today is _our_ wedding day. Remember wench," I jabbed an index finger at her, "You pushed him aside six years ago for Raoul. Remove your dear diva self from my sight now!"

Erik moved past me to the gown clad Christine, taking her hand in his.

"Christine has shown me that she is my one true love; no one can ever come between us. Forgive me Gabrielle, knowing you has been fun, really, but you need to move on with your life and I with mine."

He looked at Christine affectionately, "The processional has begun. Let us go and be wed my angel of music."

"No, you can't love her! You son of a bitch," I sobbed loudly against the searing pain building in my heart.

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_**Don't freak, don't flame, just review and then wait for the next chapter, which shall be up soon my lovies**_

—_**Leesa**_


	52. Ch 52 The Letter

_**My, when I stir the pot I get oodles of wonderful reviews. Thank you for your comments. Did most of you guess the last chapter's ending? Read on… (Thanks Amy and Kay for your help) **_

**_CH 52 The Letter_**

The vision of Erik and Christine dissolved into a white swirling mist at the same instant I heard Erik's voice calling out to me anxiously.

"Gabrielle! Gabrielle, wake up darling, please!" Erik was shaking me while I continued to shriek and sob, beating my fists into a pillow.

"E-E-Erik, don't do this!"

"Don't do what, my little dove?"

"Please, don't leave me…I love you so!"

"I love you too, my darling." He hugged me, shushing me as if I were a fussy babe.

"Gabrielle, you were having night terrors, a bad dream— that's all it was. Your brain was deceiving you, discovering your deepest fears and making them seem real. As you are all too aware, I too have them. Remember they are not real."

"Y-Yes, but it was just so real, Erik. I dreamt you left me at the altar." I clung to him; still not sure I was free from that hellish dream.

"How ghastly! You do know that I would never do such a horrible thing to you Gabrielle."

He leaned forward and his voice softened; he wiped damp strands of hair from my face and caressed my cheek, trying to sooth me.

"Shhh, breath deeply, in…out. Yes, there, all better now?"

I nodded and sniffed, "I'm sorry to wake you. I know you had a heck of a night at the opera."

"No worries, darling. You've had your share of night terrors with me. I see it as fair you have your turn. It must be that Vincenzo; he's planted fear in your mind. I think I might well go and, as you say, open a can of whoop arse on him."

I managed to laugh, "How silly, and sweet. Thanks." I kissed his nose and ran my hands gently over both sides of his face. Erik closed his eyes, relishing the feel of my flesh upon his.

"Let me fetch you a glass of water…and laudanum to help you sleep, if you wish."

"I shouldn't take too much of that stuff, Erik. I don't think I'll need it. Well, maybe I will, the dream was truly terrifying. Sure, bring it to me anyway. I'll have just a drop."

My decision sent Erik on his way for water and medication. I slumped back into the pillows and turned my head from side to side attempting to work out some kinks in my neck.

Sheesh Gab, what's up with you? Just because the Comtess is a widow does not mean she had designs on your man—even if she is beautiful, and talented, and available. I don't think I imagined the electricity zipping between those two as they chatted it up in the Lyric's lobby. Erik seems okay; he's being exceptionally loving and attentive to me.

Do not worry about what you cannot prove, I told myself.

Erik pushed open the bedroom door. He held a glass of water and the laudanum bottle in his hands.

"You know, I'm not found of using narcotics, but I don't think I'll be able to sleep again without assistance," I reasoned aloud.

"A drop won't do you any harm. I will not allow you to fall into the deceptive comfort of addiction, Gabrielle." Erik approached the bed and set the medicine and water on the nightstand.

"Scoot over a tad, will you dear?" He perched next to me on the bed and prepared the bitter concoction for me to drink.

"Your magic elixir, Madame." He held the laudanum-laced water out to me. I accepted it warily.

"How do people get addicted to this stuff? It tastes and smells like rat turds."

"Are you an aficionado of such things, Gabrielle?"

I glared at him over the rim of the glass while ingesting its contents.

"Bletch!" I shimmied with revulsion.

"Such a good girl, here, I brought you a chocolate to chase the laudanum."

Erik fished a foil wrapped truffle from the pocket of his silk robe and held it out to me. I'd seen him offer treats to his horses in much the same way.

"You sweet, thoughtful man! Thank you." I plucked it from his hand. "Would you prefer that I whinny first?" I giggled.

"If it pleases you, dear."

I gobbled up the sweet and tossed the foil on the table, trying not to dwell on what eating sugar before bed and not brushing would do for my teeth.

Erik rounded the bed and slipped back under the covers, positioning his body flush with mine. I lay my head on his chest and he slid an arm around my shoulder.

"Better now, darling?"

"I think so; that laudanum works fast." The residual anxiety from my dream was fading quickly.

It was the ring of china against china that stirred me from my sleep. With most of my head buried in the pillow, I peeped out of my left eye and saw the silhouette of Madame Roux bending down to place a tray on the bedside table.

"Good morning Madam, are you ready to face the day?" Normally Marie Roux's voice would have been tinged with frustration. In her book sleeping beyond the crack of dawn was for outré Bohemians.

"Monsieur DuPuis requested that I take care not to wake you. He said the cool night air left you with a headache and so I've brought you hot tea with mint and an almond scone with honey."

"Marie, you're an angel, bless you."

I pushed my self into the sitting position and accepted the steaming cup of tea that Marie held out to me. The bergamot and mint smelled divine and I inhaled the steam with relish.

"Ummm, I'm better already. Thank you."

She lingered, messing about with the teapot and rearranging the plates and utensils on the silver tray.

"If I may ask, how was your evening at the opera?"

"Really amazing, first of all the Lyric is a beautiful piece of architecture. It's modeled after the baroque mansions of Spain. Then there's the clothes, I've never seen so many people trying to outdo one another, each one more garish than the next! If they only knew how silly they looked. But oh, Marie, Erik's music was phenomenal and the performance, it was unlike anything I've ever seen or heard. I'm gushing, aren't I?"

"You're in love, why shouldn't you be enthusiastic? He too was pleased. The look on his face when you descended the stairs last night; he was enchanted."

Enchanted, the exact word that came to mind last night when Christine complimented Erik on his opera. I lowered my eyes to the teacup in my hand.

"Erik had only good things to saw about the performance. Yes Marie, the evening was nearly perfect."

"Only nearly perfect? How so?"

"Marie, do you have a moment? I need to talk with you, woman to woman."

She frowned with concern and pulled out the chair from beneath the side desk, moving it closer to the bed.

"Gabrielle, what is troubling you dear?"

I was reluctant to reveal what may be seen a petty concern, but I needed feedback from someone in the know, someone who knew the history of the Phantom of the Opera.

Cautiously, I began, "First off, I want you to know that I'm aware of many of Erik's darkest him secrets. I know of the Phantom, of his childhood and of Christine."

Madame Roux's face remained impassive, I'm sure she and her sister had had frequent conversations concerning Monsieur DuPuis' unusual houseguest/cook turned fiancée.

Marie rose from the chair and crossed over to my dressing table where she picked up my large bristled brush, turning it over in her hands. "My, what an oddly crafted brush; wherever did you find such and unusual accessory?"

I'd purchased the post twentieth century brush only three days before my trip to New York for the opening of Sweet Charity, and I didn't want to part with it for one of those silver-handled bristle brushes that did little more than skim the outer layer of my thick mane.

Why this sudden interest in my hairbrush? I surmised that she must have been buying time for an appropriate answer to my admission of knowing many dark details of Erik's former life.

"Oh that," I answered duly, "My dear departed husband brought that back from one of his many travels, Marie. I'm not sure exactly where he picked it up. Unusual, is it not?"

"Most, I've never laid eyes on such a unique piece," she agreed. Crossing back with the brush in her hand, the woman sat down next to me on the bed.

"Here, Gabrielle, allow me to brush your lovely hair for you. It has been many years since I've done so for my daughter, Caron." Her voice was soft and gentle.

"What a nice gesture Marie, I could use some tender loving care, or TLC as we like to say back home." I scooted down to sit in front of Marie and let her untangle my wavy copper brown hair."

"Marie, I don't want you to betray a confidence, but something unplanned happened last night." She paused in her brushing when I turned to search her eyes.

"My sister told me many a time how life at the Opera Garnier was a veritable melodrama. Please dear, continue," she replied steadily.

"Well, last evening, as Erik and I were making our way through the lobby of the Lyric, we were approached by Christine de Chagny."

This time the older woman's eyes revealed her surprise.

"My word! How did Monsieur DuPuis take to such an unprecedented occurrence? Surely he was taken aback after six years."

I turned back around for Marie to resume my grooming.

"Oh yes. At first he tried to ignore her but she caught up with us so, out of courtesy he had to stop and address her. Erik was cool and indifferently polite; then she mentioned how much she loved his opera and that she was now a wealthy widow. The piece de resistance came when Christine planted a seed in his mind that she might enjoy a return to the stage…if only Erik would consent to tutor her again."

"Good heavens, Gabrielle! How did he respond?"

"Well, it was like he…melted. His walls came down and I could sense the gratitude for her praise and of his extreme sorrow over the loss of her husband. He did introduce me as his fiancée and was appropriate in his affections to me, but Christine, she was, I don't know, solicitous of him."

"Solicitous? How so, Gabrielle?"

"Oh Marie, I can't quite put my finger on it. Perhaps I'm being a jealous woman, but this is Christine I'm talking about here. There is tremendous history with them that's not easy to forget."

"No dear," Marie leaned forward to make her point. "Monsieur DuPuis adores you; there is no question of it. As for his relationship with the Comtess, I believe I am correct in saying they've not spoken since the night of the fire at the Opera Garnier. Please understand Gabrielle, Erik and Christine went through a sort of personal awakening; they were in a sense each other's first love, a forbidden love that could never be. One never forgets regardless of how ill advised they are."

Damn, she certainly hit the target on that one.

"That is true in many cases, Marie, but their liaison was so intense. Do you think a woman such as Christine would attempt to rekindle the flame?"

Marie's gaze drifted to the side as if thinking on my query. "From what I know of the Comtess, she is an honorable woman. I cannot imagine she would conspire to interferer with Monsieur DuPuis affairs now that he is engaged, it would be dreadfully reproachful."

"Losing her nearly killed Erik, and now she is free. You know Marie, I'm surprised that Erik wasn't aware of her widowhood the way he has his nose in the newspaper."

Marie shifted on the bed, "Perhaps the paper did not reach him when the Comte's death notice was posted. It is possible; he often has his nose buried in other pursuits, he hardly ever takes a break when composing."

"I know, but eventually someone would have told him about it, right?"

"Dear child, those who care for Erik are mindful not to upset him. News of the Comte's death could have caused any number of unforeseen reactions. He is happy now, why complicate his life with upsetting news?"

"It makes no sense— Erik is a composer, he makes it his business to know everything having to do with the world of Opera. The death of a major arts patron and husband of a popular former diva is big news."

Then it hit me. "You knew, didn't you Marie?"

She considered me carefully before answering, "Indeed dear, I did know. Monsieur Khan made an impromptu early morning call to the Manor. He wished to speak with Henri and me before Monsieur DuPuis awoke. He advised us to destroy the day's newspaper with the Comte's death notice. The Persian swore us to secrecy never to tell Monsieur DuPuis of the Comte's sudden death. In his wisdom, he believed that by the time Erik ventured out into the public where someone might be imprudent enough to tell him, he would no longer care."

"No longer care about what…Christine? Oh, I find that highly unlikely, Marie."

"The Comte de Chagny's accident occurred eleven months ago, Gabrielle. Monsieur DuPuis' interests were elsewhere."

"Elsewhere, you mean his opera?"

She gave me her best you-know-what-I-mean look.

"Child, do not feign ignorance. Monsieur was taken with you from the moment he brought you to the manor."

"You kept mum because of me? And here I thought you disapproved of me all of those months ago, Marie. Wow." Smack my ass and call me Sally.

"Gabrielle, Monsieur DuPuis is an unusual man, a difficult man. Yet all men deserve the happiness that only a wife and family can provide. It is a rare woman who will dedicate her time and patience in loving him. You are that rare woman. I cannot deny that your presence in this house is the will of God."

I placed the empty teacup on the silver tray, pinched off a piece of the scone and rolled the morsel around in my hand while I addressed Madame Roux, "I cannot believe that you, Monsieur Roux, and Monsieur Khan, all banded together in the name of Erik's well being. If he knew he would first be livid, then grateful."

"I've no delusions that his wrath would be considerable, which is why you mustn't say a word to anyone, least of all him."

I held up my palms and chuckled, "Oh, you'll not have to worry about me, Marie. I'm all about peace and harmony, especially this close to the wedding."

"A wise decision. As for the Comtess de Chagny, I believe she poses no threat Gabrielle, but do be mindful dear; seeing her again must be a shock to Monsieur DuPuis. It may take him time to disentangle his thoughts from the memories caused by such a precipitous event. Do you understand what I am saying?"

I picked at my cuticles and thought for a moment how to respond. I did understand; it's always weird when an old flame pops up out of thin air. I hoped that whatever emotions Christine had stirred up in Erik would quickly dissipate much like my old life had. Bye, bye, Christine, get lost in a time tear please, I thought.

"Yes Marie, I understand completely," I looked her in the eye so there would be no mistaking the depth of my answer.

"I've no doubt you do, dear. Think of it no more. Eat your scone and ready yourself for the day. Should you need me, I'll be doing the wash."

"Okay, and thanks for understanding. I don't want to come across as a jealous shrew. Think of me as a…a vigilant fiancée."

Marie smiled and rose from the chair to lay a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Indeed, you are a loving bride, Gabrielle. Nerves are playing games on your mind. It is only normal."

"You're right, o wise one."

Marie chuffed at my compliment and took her leave.

Eventually I pushed the worries from my mind, dressed and went downstairs to see what was stirring within the walls of DuPuis manor. All was status quo—quiet and orderly, Marie was in the back ironing, Henri was polishing tack in the barn and Erik was…nowhere to be found; a fact that didn't concern me much as he was prone to slipping away into the crevices of the house for his much loved solitude.

I decided to go to the music room and practice my guitar when I heard the lion's head knocker banging against the front door. It had to be a messenger; DuPuis Manor didn't receive many unexpected visitors.

With Marie in the back of the house, I knew she wouldn't hear the door, so I placed my guitar back in its case and proceeded to the front hall. Again the knocker banged loudly against its brass plate. Geez Louise, patience. I opened the door to find a nattily dressed man.

"Good day Madame, I've a special delivery for Monsieur DuPuis, is he about?"

"No, but I am the lady of the house, I can take it for him," I replied.

The man pursed his lips and cleared his throat, "Are you now? Forgive me for my bluntness, Madame, but polite gentry do not often undertake menial tasks as answering their own front door. Have you already released the servant for the day?"

Funny little man, I thought. The French can be so stuffy at times.

"Monsieur DuPuis likes to run a bare bones operation, he has no need of extraneous help. Monsieur, now if you would please, the post?" I motioned to the letter I saw clutched in his gloved hands.

He frowned, "Madame, I've strict instructions that no one is to receive the letter but the master of the house. I fear I shall have to return at a later time."

Grrr, what a butt munch.

I bit my tongue and continued with the politeness befitting a lady, "Monsieur, if the maid or butler had greeted you, would you not have handed them the post? Surely the mistress of the house is even more dependable than a servant at making sure Monsieur DuPuis receives his letter, wouldn't you agree?"

"Madame," he huffed, you must be sure DuPuis receives this posthaste. The sender is most anxious he reply immediately." Begrudgingly, he handed the letter over to my care. "Please sign the registrar."

I opened the door farther for the man to enter. He handed me a pen and the tablet to validate. I tried my hand at my soon-to-be identity, writing in long sweeping strokes I signed, Mdm. G. Thomassen DuPuis, smiling as I handed back the tablet.

He scrutinized my signature, then being satisfied, bid me a brusque good day and trotted off to his horse.

Chuckling out loud, I closed the door and turned the letter over to check out the rose-colored wax seal. It bore no initials but a crest—one I'd seen before but could not place. That ruled out a business acquaintance—they certainly wouldn't use rose-colored sealing wax; too fey.

It must be from a woman…

- 0 -

_**Poor dead Raoul, poor confused Erik, poor sad Gabrielle. Just hang in there with me; I promise t here is method to the madness. **_

****


	53. Ch 53 Rivalry

**_This chapter is brief, a bridge into the next one. Please review for me. Your reviews have been helpful, encouraging and frankly, funny (strangle C. with something blue, C. must die, snake repellent for C.). Thanks to all._**

**_Leesainthesky_**

**Ch 53 The Rivalry**

There is a sensation one experiences when a startling revelation blasts into the mind, an adrenaline rush which seems to begin in the pit of the stomach, spreads to all points of the body, and ends with a dull pang in the heart.

And oh, how I wanted to open that envelope. Did I dare? After all, I was, or would be, the lady of the manor. I had my rights. But then, so did Erik.

Hadn't I seen a movie where someone had opened a letter with sealing wax by putting a letter opener to the edge and then popping up the seal? Holding a flame on the wax for a moment, then pressing it back onto the envelope could reseal it.

_Gab, that's stinking thinking. Do not go there_.

In the hush-hush environment of the nineteenth century, I knew little and I felt obliged to find information any way I could…within reason. I was a reporter by nature, and I had a right to know who was messing with my honey. I had a good idea too. Women's intuition is not to be taken lightly.

Tucking the letter into the sleeve of my bodice, I rushed to my room. There I found a letter opener in the top drawer of my writing desk. One quick twist of the opener's sharp tip beneath the wax seal and, voila!

I slipped the parchment from its envelope. The fragrance of rosewater immediately hit my olfactory senses.

It was with curious trepidation that I began to read:

Dearest Erik,

I hope this correspondence finds you well.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered the esteemed composer attending his very own Grand Gala opening. Such joy and rapture to see you again! Yet in my heart there is also sorrow.

My life since leaving the opera has been primarily one of happiness; dear departed Raoul was a kind and loving man. Yes Erik, you encouraged me to the right decision on that fateful night in your home beneath the Opera Garnier; yet I find that when I think of you, it is with much fondness. I've never forgotten you…the special bond we shared, the nights of reading and of singing and the heat of passion, which set fire to my soul upon the stage with our duet from your Don Juan Triumphant.

And now, I find you betrothed.

I always knew that there were other women in this world who would appreciate your special beauty and be measurably more deserving of your affections than I.

I am pleased that you have found a suitable mate in Madame Thomassen.

Darling Erik, do forgive me if my intentions are not befitting a lady of my station. I cannot help but feel that you and I share a union of spirit that can never be broken, one that might possibly, may God strike me down, deserve attention.

It is not my wish to cause a division between you and your betrothed; however, I've a sense that you and I are meant to be.

Oh, how painful unrequited love is! This is surely my punishment for leaving you!

Please Erik, if you have any love left within your heart for me, do you not owe it to yourself to discover what may be your true fate? After all, darling, we have only but one life to live.

I await your expeditious answer.

Your obedient servant,

Christine

Incredible! I wanted to roundhouse kick her pale little hinny onto a slow boat to China. So, Christine pined for a man she'd once rejected; okay, as a woman I could understand that, but _I _was Erik's saving grace, not the woman who left him for a young lord with a pretty face.

Bitch, how dare she screw with my happiness! But I knew without question that if I could not let on my knowledge of the letter's contents. If Erik found me out, I would be in a heap of trouble.

From the safe confines of my room, I re-sealed the envelope and trotted downstairs to place it on Erik's desk. If only I could keep it from him one more day! Why was I so insecure? I knew the man loved me. I also knew the lure of a long lost love—the potency of the one last chance to grasp hold of a long lost dream.

I prayed over the letter, prayed that God in his infinite wisdom would not allow Erik and me to be torn apart by a ghost.

I'd no sooner opened my eyes and turned from his library desk when Erik entered the room.

"Hello sweetheart," I said almost too cheerfully. "Why, you're in your stocking feet! No wonder I didn't hear you come in."

"Yes, I deposited my boots in the mud room. The last thing I wish to do is draw the wrath of Madame Roux by muddying her clean floor." He walked straight to me and laid a kiss on my cheek.

"What have you been up to? You smell of fresh air and sunshine." I smiled up into his magnificent jade eyes.

"The joyous labor of mending the south fence."

"Ah, a landowner's work is never done, is it?"

"Indeed, Monsieur Roux is forever imploring me to hire help, but I see no sense in it. Most of my life I've made do for myself and I am quite capable of it now."

"Another trait to admire about you, lovey; you're not spoiled like most wealthy French landowners."

Erik peered around me, his eyes landing on the lone envelope in the middle of his desk blotter.

"My head must still be full of last night's excitement; I am sure I had sorted through the day's post already."

He moved past me and picked up the letter.

"Oh, that," I replied trying not to let my trepidation show. "A special delivery came for you about an hour ago. I didn't know where you were so I signed for it. I hope you don't mind, Erik?"

"No, of course not, dear." He flipped the envelope over. His eyes darkened when he saw the crest on the seal.

"Interesting seal isn't it? It must be from a business partner, although I don't know what man would prefer such a dainty color, do you?" I prodded innocently.

"Chagny…it's the Chagny crest," he spoke the words slowly and carefully, like a young boy sounding out an unfamiliar word.

"Oh," was all I could say.

- 0 -

**_I can smell the estrogen from here…review!_**

**_XXOO_**

**_-Leesa_**


	54. Ch 54 Inquiring Minds

_Dear readers, I feel your love for Christine: Tramp, Fop's widow, the B word. And your funny comments: the smell of Napalm being launched, soul-tormenting anxiety, writing C a poison pen letter. Thank you all for the entertaining comments and the useful reviews and suggestions. All are well noted and appreciated. _

_Some of you said that my Christine seemed mean. I don't wish to portray her as a villainess; she is simply lonely and pining for Erik. Remember that this Christine is older too, therefore bolder and more determined. _

_-Leesainthesky _

**Ch 54 Inquiring Minds **

I'd always heard that curiosity killed the cat, and my former fiancé, Tony once likened me to one. He claimed it was my green and brown feline eyes and the ability as a reporter to bait my prey with purrs and stealthy moves before going in for the kill. Then he would deflate my ego by reminding me that I also had a penchant for long, lazy naps in the sun.

I was indeed curious of Erik's reaction to the letter, but I sensed that expressing my curiosity would not be the wisest of my moves within my adopted century.

It was with disappointment that I watched Erik lock Christine's letter into the small middle drawer of his desk.

Erik faced me and placed his hands on my shoulders, he was about to speak when he lost focus. "Gabrielle, I…"

"Yes, darling?" I tipped my head up and searched his face.

"I…I shall need a bath. Working out of doors in this unseasonably warm weather has left me positively grimy. Will you be planning the midday meal soon? I had only coffee for my morning meal."

"And you've worked up a hunger. Of course I'll fix something for you, Erik. Go freshen up; lunch will be ready when you're finished." I said this while fingering the ruffle on the front of his open shirt. Go quickly lest Marie sees you and faints at the sight of your bare chest," I managed to grin.

We left the library together. Erik headed upstairs for his bath and I walked the length of the long wide hall to the kitchen area.

Marie had finished her ironing and was putting the kettle on for tea when I entered the kitchen. "Hello again, Marie, how is your day faring?" I asked looking for a way to enter into conversation.

"Fairly well, dear," the elder woman answered. "And yours?"

"Interesting, Marie, while everyone was about their separate business, a special delivery letter arrived for Erik, which I signed for since I was the only person in the house at the time."

"Rather unusual, I must say. We do not receive many deliveries after the regular post comes. Have you any idea what it was?"

"Well, that's what I need to speak with you about Marie. It's a personal matter and when I tell you how I know what I know, you'll no doubt think less of my methods and me.

She frowned, not understanding where I was going when the teakettle whistled.

Marie moved to the stove and turned off the flame. "Tea dear?" she nodded at me.

"Please," I sat and watched her prepare two cups of Earl Gray for us.

In hushed tones, I began to tell Marie about how I saw the feminine hued seal on the letter, of how I opened it and read the contents and of how I resealed it and placed it dutifully on Erik's desk for him to find.

"Oh Gabrielle, you should not have done such a thing. Yours is a grievous disrespect of Monsieur DuPuis' private rights." She scolded me righteously, waggling a bony finger at me.

"I know it is, but Marie, I _had_ to know if my gut feelings were correct."

"Your gut feelings of what, dear?"

"That Christine de Chagny was flirting with Erik last night, that she wants more from him than innocent voice lessons."

She leaned toward me and whispered in clipped tones, "Gabrielle, you are too much of a lady to let a woman's jealous nature overcome good sense."

"I am not the jealous type Marie," I retorted indignantly. "I'm telling you she was making eyes at Erik, it was obvious. You would have fainted at her sugary endearments."

Marie's expression changed from motherly scolding to worry.

"Marie, it was the way they looked at one another, as if within that instant, a thousand memories of what was and what could have been tumbled through both of their brains. Not only did I see, but also I felt it happening. What do you think it could mean?"

She spooned sugar into her tea, "Hum, that is worthy of note indeed. I shall contact my sister in Paris. She and her daughter, Meg, remain connected with Christine. Perhaps they can endeavor to shed some light on the young lady's intention; that I will do for you my dear. As for your fiancé, you would do well not to let on that you know anything about the letter or of your concerns. Men are not prone to suffering nosey women."

"Your sound advice is keenly noted, Madame."

"Gabrielle?"

"Yes, Marie?"

"Always know that I am your advocate, your friend. Call on me whenever you must, day or night, dear."

"Thank you. You're the best, Marie."

"Oh, I don't know about that child!" She waved me off and exited thorough the back door to the cottage she and Henri shared.

Peering into my empty cup, I remembered a woman who told fortunes on a Chicago morning radio show. She called herself Geraldine, the teacup psychic. If she were available now, I wondered what she would see for me in the leaves of my cup.

Eventually I tore myself away from my musings and got my butt in gear preparing lunch. Erik would be enjoying a midday repast of a hearty potato soup, brown bread and smoked salmon.

Whether I read a book, went to market, or joined Erik in the music room to accompany him on my guitar, I could not tear my thoughts away from the letter. Locked away in Erik's library desk, it mocked me with its rosy wax seal melted upon the expensive cream parchment envelope.

As for Erik, there was nothing in his manner indicating whether or not he'd read the letter's disquieting contents. Life at the manor was status quo as he went about his usual daily routines.

I, on the other hand, was losing my mind.

On the second evening after the arrival of the letter, we lay in bed reading. Erik read his Emily Dickinson and I, my Robert Frost, snuggled beneath the cushy comfort of a down coverlet.

The hour was late, and I was tired. I placed my book on the table on my side of the bed and laid my head in Erik's lap. He too ceased his reading and retired Emily to his table. I felt his hand touch me softly and he began to stroke my hair casually.

"Caron sent me a letter, she wants me to visit her soon," I said recounting the highlight of my day.

"I see—when does she wish for you to call?"

"Whenever we are settled in to married life, and you give me permission, of course," I said with a chuckle.

"You may go whenever you wish, darling. I hold no claim over your person beyond the reasonable respect a spouse expects. Is her husband not home from the Navy?"

"Well, he was. Her Majesty's Navy has him out on maneuvers for the next five months, which sucks considering that Caron's is five months pregnant with their first baby."

"Expecting, Gabrielle, Caron is _expecting_." Erik corrected my uncouth use of the unmentionable.

"Oh geez, Erik, when we're together, why can't we call it what it is? Caron is pregnant; it's a beautiful and natural fact of life, not a dirty little secret."

"I do agree with you, dear, but from time to time, I feel I must remind you of what is good and proper public decorum."

"Thank you Miss Manners."

"Who?"

"Another American institution of what is good and proper."

"Must you always liken me to American women? Are there no future icons of the masculine ilk to compare me to?"

I giggled and inched up closer to his face and playfully nipped at the divot on his chin. "Let's see—there's Donald Trump, no way…really bad hair and definitely not cool enough; Frank Sinatra, no not sexy enough…hmm, you are a combination of many; the brains and innovation Bill Gates, the dark sexuality of Trent Reaznor, the grace of Mikhail Baryshnikov and the genius of composer Andrew Lloyd Webber, Prince, Lennon and McCartney; all worthy comparisons, my darling."

"One can only hope," Erik rolled his eyes.

"Yet still, none can hold a candle to the incomparable Erik."

He ran his fingers down my back, resting them only when he reached my hips and gently stroked the sensitive area of flesh just above my buttocks. I stretched like a cat and sighed against his naked chest.

"Erik," I purred, "Did you ever find out who sent you that special delivery letter?"

"Why no, I completely forgot it. Thank you for the reminder, darling."

I ran my index finger around the circumference of his belly button, pondering how to continue my careful snooping.

"We don't get many special delivery letters here at the manor do we?

"Indeed," he murmured.

"It must be terribly important. I'd be beside myself with curiosity if it were my letter. I'd have already torn it open."

"Yes, well darling, I am not you now am I?" Erik condescended with a short laugh.

"Simple feminine curiosity, dearest. I don't possess the mastery over my emotions like you do, Erik," I cooed playing the role of the agreeable female.

"Please Gabrielle; let's talk of something more interesting shall we?"

"Okay, but you know sweetheart, I couldn't help but notice the rosy-hued seal on the envelope. You must have a female admirer," I played at teasing him, but he was not amused.

Erik sat up and let my head fall from his chest onto the bed. His tone was frosty.

"Whatever do you mean, dear, a female admirer?"

I propped my self up on my elbows and shot back at him, "Come on Erik, you said yourself it was the de Chagny crest on the seal. We both know that the only survivors of that bloodline are women. Please, Erik, listen to me. I'm not trying to pry but it is obvious to me who sent it. Do you forget that I was a news reporter in my former life?"

He rolled onto his left elbow to face me. "What business is it of yours, pray tell?"

I ignored the obvious answers like, I'll soon be your wife so what's Christine doing sending you letters three and one half weeks before your wedding; instead I took the offensive.

"All I'm saying is I cannot help but be curious about why the woman is sending you a letter after six years have passed by, Erik. Women in this day and age do not normally do that when they know a man is engaged."

His eyes turned storm cloud green and his mouth took on a brooding pout, Erik's usual expression for communicating displeasure.

"Before you become indignant, listen to me. I can only imagine if the tables were turned what your reaction would be to my receiving a letter from a man, especially a man who once loved me. Why is my asking you about the letter such a problem, Erik?"

"The problem is, dear, you are meddling in my affairs."

"I see; well then, if asking you a routine question about a not so routine piece of mail is meddling, then I can only wonder what it is that you're worried about my knowing."

"Not a damn thing, Gabrielle!" Erik demonstrated his mounting frustration by throwing his body back into the pillows and smacking the bed hard with both hands, then glowering at me menacingly.

"Okay, all right, enough of the death-glare."

I threw up my hands. "Look, I didn't mean to start a row, forget I said anything about it, Erik. Goodnight."

I ended the conversation in a soft tone hoping to diffuse the situation, turned over and wrapped my hands around my pillow.

I heard him sigh heavily right before he extinguished the lamp.

Tomorrow he would read the letter.

It was with wicked irony that I realized Erik's loving gesture of taking me to the opera gala could well be the onset of our undoing.

- 0 -

**_While Erik's reading the letter, you'll have time to send me a review. Just don't flame the author, it's never productive… ; ) _**

**_-Leesa _**


	55. Ch 55 Comtess Pandora

_**Hello dear readers, lurkers and reviewers, such scathing remarks for Christine! Hey, when a girl wants what she wants…**_

_**Thank you for your great reviews, thanks to Amy for her beta talents. Love is messy; with that said; I give you the next chapter…**_

**Ch-55 Comtess Pandora**

Warm lips brushed my right shoulder, trailing down my arm, ending with a kiss to the palm of my hand. I stirred and turned in the bed to see Erik looking up at me.

"Good morning, my goddess. Are you still angry with me?" he crooned.

Quickly, I gathered my thoughts before offering a reply, pausing just long enough for him to wonder.

"Angry with you? I'm not angry with you, Erik. We had our first big misunderstanding, that's all, sweetheart." I cupped his chin in my hand and led him toward my face, but he stopped at my breast for a nibble.

"Ooh, that tickles." I wasn't prepared for the intense stimulation of his tongue.

Erik frowned, "Do you not want my touch this morning, Gabrielle?"

"Now, did I say that?" I crossed my arms, feigning indignation. I then bent over to kiss the top of his head, simultaneously rubbing my hands over his delicious behind. The effect on Erik's person was immediately detectable.

Erik drew in a deep breath, releasing it with a sigh in response to my caress.

"If I was out of line with my questions last night, then perhaps proper correction is in order today. What is your opinion Monsieur?" I giggled because Erik was creeping up my shoulder with his tongue.

"Mmm-hmm. Proper correction for you definitely; and what for me? I deserve a proper thrashing for being a rude boy, do I not?"

"Indeed." I agreed, smiling up into those fiery eyes. I stretched across Erik to open the small drawer of the bedside table. I fumbled through its contents, but couldn't find what I needed. Damn, there should be a few of those condoms leftover from Tony's suitcase; I enjoyed using up what he'd intended to utilize with his girl on the side.

"Gosh, Erik, we must have used up all our protection."

"We've been busy little beavers," he growled roughly, parting the hair around my ear so he could assault my neck with maddeningly delicious licks.

"More like bunnies. I think we'll be safe today, but one of us will have to make accommodations soon," I warned.

"I've never had the need to purchase French letters, but I am sure it would be no bother for me to do so."

"It had better not be, unless being a daddy and a husband within the course of one years isn't too much for you to take on," I said, moving back over Erik's naked body and wrapping my legs around his waist.

"Do you think the apothecary stocks those glow in the dark kind?" I said referring to the interesting novelty assortment I'd found in Tony's suitcase for use with his little whore.

"Those were absurd! Why in the hell would anyone wish to make his privates glow in the dark? I pity the hapless man who cannot locate his target, really!"

"Oh, Erik, it's just for play, for fun. A little illumination between the sheets can be helpful—you wouldn't want to end up in the wrong spot now would you?" I couldn't help but laugh.

"_I_ do not have such problems. One can only hope that the French have more sense with such goods," he sniffed.

"Yeah, well if you thought using those condoms from the 21st century was like taking a bath with a raincoat on, wait 'till you slip into one of your nineteenth century models; goat—the second skin."

Erik paused and his eyes froze on mine.

"Don't worry my love, we'll figure out something suitable for both of our carnal needs, but for now, this morning, I think we are in the safe zone," I reassured him and lightly traced the outline of his lips with my fingers.

Erik's features relaxed when he gazed at me. He had a knack for keeping his features neutral and impassive; it was his eyes that his revealed his thoughts. Only those who knew the true man knew this valuable fact.

I studied his face, at once beautiful and horrific, the contrasts of his visage revealed the heart of men. Everyone carried within his or her soul the capacity to experience anger, rage, beauty and passion. The decision to accentuate the good and temper the bad was the difference between man and menace.

Erik could certainly play both sides of that team, but in the fifteen months that I had known him, it was the former that most often emerged.

Erik was a good man, I loved him, and I knew by the way he looked at me that that love was reciprocated.

I kissed the right side of his jaw line and worked my way upward to his marred cheek, where he bore an intense sensitivity to touch; it's a wonder he tolerated that mask day in and day out. I made sure to kiss every bit of flesh upon his face there.

Erik pulsed against the flesh of my thighs.

"Gabrielle, I so need you," his plea was a whispered prayer. For the next hour, my lover and I were engaged in a raucous round of lovemaking.

And so my day began, filled with, among other things, hope.

After a light breakfast Erik retired to the library to write a proposal for a wealthy Swedish man who had seen Erik's architectural talents and wanted a masterpiece for himself; a mansion of palatial proportions fashioned from limestone. Erik's main condition was that once a blueprint design was agreed upon there would be no interference from the client. He abhorred such intrusions, which is why he seldom agreed to private contracts.

I knew that letter from Christine awaited his attention from inside the middle drawer of the massive mahogany library desk. And so I distracted myself with another article for George Eliot, who now signed her works as Mary Anne. The previous two had created a stir among the literary minds of both feminist and misogynist alike.

Goody, I was primed and ready to pen a scathing editorial on the writings of Poet William Allington Ruskin who, in his essay, _Of Queens and Gardens_, wrote that a woman must be wise, but her great function in life is praise, namely the praise of a man.

I knew to keep my writing in check with the current time and culture, but in the frame of mind I was in, skewering Allington and his ilk was going to be fun.

Three nibs later, my fingers started to cramp around the pen. Satisfied with the editorial, I went in search of my editor and critic, Erik.

After searching the library, the music room, the bedroom, kitchen and stable, I gave up. No carriages or horses were absent, and Monsieur Roux had not noticed Erik walking the fields or pasture. Where could he be?

I supposed my critique could wait; supper would be served in two hours and Erik rarely missed the evening meal.

After assuaging my suspicions last night by grilling him on the contents of the Christine letter, I felt kind of sheepish, and I experience had shown me that one way to Erik's heart, beside his groin, was through his stomach.

Tonight my man would feast on rack of lamb, petite potatoes au gratin, onion soup en crochet and his favorite sweet, fallen chocolate soufflé.

With the table set, the candles lit, and the Roux's happily fed in the comfort of their cottage, I had donned my most fetching dining frock and headed to fetch the one missing ingredient to dinner; Erik.

Normally he was in the kitchen, sticking his fingers in the sauces, batters and frostings before I'd even had a chance to pour them into their proper tins or bowls and I'd be forced to shoosh him away.

This afternoon, Erik was quiet, a sign that he was occupied with writing or napping, and therefore may not feel like eating just yet. I could fix a plate and deliver it to the music room, that is, if he were there. I searched the entire manor house; but could not find him anywhere.

Most unusual, he always informed me when he would not be taking supper.

I started to get huffy. Here I'd labored over his favorite meal and he couldn't even come out of his hidey-hole to let me know he wasn't up to eating. I was not used to Erik disrespecting me in any manner.

Tonight the food would sit in the icebox; if Erik became hungry later, he could fend for himself, I decided.

As night descended on the French countryside, I lit a fire in the salon's ornate marble fireplace, cozied up on a velvet chaise with half a bottle of Pinot Noir and begin to re-read Jane Austin's Pride and Prejudice.

Eventually sleep claimed me and I slumped down into the comfortable white velvet chaise.

Many hours later, the fire died out and the chill returned, rousing me with a shiver.

In a sleep induced stupor, I navigated the way up to my bedroom, slid beneath bed's thick pile of covers, pulling them over my head to create a cocoon of comfort that I hoped would birth me into a new world in the morning.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hell.

It was the only suitable word I knew to accurately describe my current existence. For the remainder of the weekend and into the first half of the following week, Erik remained MIA.

I wrote in my journal, practiced the scales Erik had taught me on his piano, and even took the brougham into Paris for my final wedding gown fitting.

Whenever I would seek counsel from Madame Roux, all she could offer was that Erik went underground when he had a lot on his mind and with an impending wedding, what man would not have a lot on his mind?

She and I were in the dining room polishing Erik's massive silver collection for the wedding when she voiced those archaic thoughts to me.

"Gabrielle, do you not realize? Men need a mate, but they fear that the confines of marriage will clip their wings. It is different for a woman, dear. A woman prepares her entire young life for the day when she marries and settles into the blessings of hearth and home."

"Rubbish!" I told her. "If the idea of marriage stresses men so, why do they even bother?"

Marie blushed…women of the nineteenth century knew why many men took on a wife, for that three letter word she could not bring herself to utter; sex.

Affecting the tone of a wizened sage, she continued her moral discourse, "Gabrielle, you were once a wife. You should be familiar with the main reasons people choose to couple. They often marry for the melding of bloodlines, or love. Men have certain…needs." Marie folded her hands in her lap and sat back. "I daresay that if you weren't so accessible to Monsieur DuPuis, perhaps you would now be married." She eyed me with distain.

_She did not just say that._

I nearly dropped the large silver serving platter I'd been buffing.

Did I think Marie to be an idiot? Of course she'd discovered the relaxed sleeping arrangements of her employer and his fiancée.

I raised my brows at her.

"Yes, Gabrielle, I am not blind, there have been many mornings when I have looked in on you and you'd not slept in your bed." He tone was disapproving.

I pretended not to care, shrugged and steered her back to the matter at hand. "Marie, tell me the truth. Erik has gone underground hasn't he?"

I demanded a response from the woman.

"Even if he has, how should I know where to find him, Madame?" she snapped back.

I heaved a heavy sigh of frustration, "Damn it, I will not be tied to a man who plays hide and seek with me when life becomes too complicated."

With that, I stormed off to my room, where I planned to squeeze on a pair of jeans beneath my skirt and head out to the stables. I needed a long no-holds-barred gallop over the fields and through the forests to relieve me of the stress that was increasing in my life at a tremendous pace level.

Six days after going underground, Erik resurfaced. I sat at the small writing desk in my room, busy penning a response to Caron's letter when I felt his presence.

"Hello Erik," was all I said, for if I'd said more, I feared that my words would smack of the confusion, anger and hurt that I felt.

"Hello, Gabrielle," he replied with cordial seriousness.

My attention remained fixed on the letter in front of me. "Darling, you would not believe how busy I've been these last few days. Marie and I managed to polish all of your silver, I've finished two letters of correspondence and written another editorial for the paper, and oh yes, my wedding dress will be ready for pick up on Thursday."

"Our wedding…"

"Yes Erik. What about our wedding?"

"We must talk about the arrangements, Gabrielle, I…"

"What?" I rotated in the chair to face him. Erik stood inside the threshold, his body poised with tension. Filtered sunlight from the west-facing window cast an ethereal amber glow over his features.

What emotion did I see in his eyes; trepidation, tenderness, resolve?

An unnamed apprehension filled the gap between us.

Erik glided toward me, as he never merely walked as other men do. He held out his slender hands, and I silently linked mine with his.

Our eyes never left each other's as he led me to the sofa and sat us facing one another.

Erik seemed to be pondering how to begin. "Gabrielle, I do love you so. You are my companion and my lover. Before I knew you, I was a living dead man, merely floating through a minimalist existence. You have breathed new life into me these fifteen months past. I owe you much."

It is never a good sign when people tell you that they owe you much. Especially a man, he is sure to begin his next sentence with _but…_

I attempted to temper my tone as I spoke, "You owe me nothing, except perhaps common respect. Erik, please, cut to the chase and tell me what's on your mind. Since your unceremonious disappearance, I have been beside myself."

He lowered his eyes in a show of regret and I continued, "Imagine if you will, the sort of thoughts running round a bride's mind when her beloved betrothed disappears for nearly a week without a word or note of any kind."

"Forgive me. I am ill equipped to deal with my emotions at times. Confusion has been my constant companion since..."

"…Since Christine re-entered your stratosphere, Erik? Is that what your confusion is about?"

All he could do was study his hands, tangling his long fingers together.

"No, not exactly."

"Then _what_, exactly?"

"The wedding, Gabrielle, it's just coming upon us so quickly."

"And you're having cold feet? If that's what you're getting at here, I can live with it, but if you are trying to articulate to me your intentions of canceling the wedding, tell me now so I can get on with my so called life. The only thing I hate worse than being strung along is being lied to." I managed to stay calm while I said this.

Erik's brows lifted in surprise. "I am neither lying to you nor attempting to string you along, Gabrielle. I daresay I am attempting to be honorably honest with you, dear one."

"So spit it out! Oh, don't fret about my sensitivity, I've been dumped before. Actually, I've become very good at it," I snapped.

"Dump you? I've no intentions of _dumping_ you, as you say. Good grief, Gabrielle...is that what you think I'm about?"

"Erik, let's do be honest. I'm a woman and I know how other women operate regardless of their century. You on the other hand, are not exactly the expert on feminology. No, that is not a dig; it's true for many men. First we run into Comtess de Chagny and she flirts madly with you. Hell, the last time you saw one another, she was in a boat her with fiancée, leaving you bereft and broken in the bowels of the opera Garnier. When she runs into you six years later, she acts as though nothing tremendous happened all those years before. Then she suggests voice lessons! And the letter! I am not an idiot, Erik; a woman does _not_ send a letter to a betrothed man unless she has intentions. You forget Erik, Christine hasn't been an ingénue in ages."

"Madame, you are sorely mistaken. Christine has no dishonorable intentions. I cannot believe this. Do my ears deceive me, or have you a jealous streak within you Gabrielle?"

"No, I do not, unless I am given a damn good reason to have one, Erik."

"I've done nothing of the sort woman!"

He was becoming excited; I took a calming breath and sighed.

"Chill, Erik. You and Christine had a real forbidden passion thing going on, unrequited though it was; she still holds feelings for you. You still have feeling for her…it's only natural, but it does not mean that she's still the one for you.

Look, I still have feelings for Tony, although I wouldn't dream of re-kindling a relationship with him ever again. Once bitten, twice-shy baby, I've learned my lesson."

He raked his hands through his hair and rose to pace the room.

"She wishes to meet with me—claims she still loves me. Imagine! Christine loves me after six years of marriage to her boy, the boy she chose over me!"

I was stunned into silence actually hearing what I already knew.

Swiftly, he moved to back to the sofa and knelt in front of me.

"Dearest Gabrielle, marriage is not an institution to enter into lightly. I love you fiercely, but emotions of which I do not understand confound me. We shall be married, that I promise you. I need…I need more time. We must be absolutely certain that we are both ready for such a commitment. For it is until death do us part." His eyes implored me to understand his tangled thoughts and feelings.

He looked miserable.

Poor Erik, I did understand. I also wanted to pummel him to a pulp; instead, I rose and crossed the room pausing in front of the bedrooms single bookshelf filled with a modest collection of books.

I absentmindedly fingered a collection of maxims from the French classic poet Francois de La Rochefoucauld.

"So you wish to postpone the nuptials; for how long Erik? Have you a new date in mind?"

"Another month, perhaps," he shrugged.

I pulled the book of poetry from the shelf and allowed it to fall open to a random passage, snorting at the prose on the page.

I read aloud; "Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fires."

_Such irony._

"One month. I see, and then you will have untangled the knot of uncertainty that has taken up residence inside of you."

It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes."

"Well, if I agree to reschedule our wedding, it is you who will contact the guests and the serving staff who have been reserved."

"Nonsense, women are far better at such things than men."

"Yes, but this woman will not be burdened by the chore or the embarrassment of such of such a task!" I rounded on him. The fire in my eyes was not lost on Erik.

He started and blinked like a man about to be struck.

"Of course, Gabrielle, leave the task for me. It is my encumbrance we now bear, not yours."

"Yes, Erik, it is." I felt my body's defenses taking over, the numbing sensation of the brain and the body when it faces an emotionally precarious situation.

Found it difficult to look at him. Erik closed the gap between us, reaching for me and I allowed him to fold me into an embrace, yet I remained rigid in my sadness.

"Oh Gabrielle," Erik whispered against the shell of my ear, "C_'est vous que j'aime._

Please, give me the time I require for certainty— it can only be to our advantage."

_Whatever…_

I managed a week smile and nodded. "Now, I really must excuse myself Erik…feminine needs and all."

Lying, I broke from his arms and walked steadily through my open bedroom door and into the hall. From Erik's vantage point, my countenance was free of sorrow, but not from Marie Roux.

She stood in the hallway outside my door, a basket of clean linens in her arms. Marie was the only witness to the tears trickling down my face. I averted my eyes and brushed past her, hurrying down the hall.

Seconds before I closed the water closet door, I heard her steely voice.

"_What_ have you done monsieur?"

I sighed and slumped down on the tile floor of the washroom and rested my head on the cold porcelain of the claw foot tub.

Erik was at the wrong end of a tongue lashing from Madame Roux. The thought of that nearly caused me to laugh.

_Now what, Gab_? I asked myself.

There was another quandary attached to this new development that I now brooded over: to sleep or not to sleep with Erik?

Only recently I'd changed rooms, moving down the hall to the one adjoining Erik's, separated only by a small setting area and my dressing room. This was the usual marital arrangement between couples of the day, each with their own sleeping quarters affording a clandestine way to hook up in the night.

Why the quandary though? We _were_ still engaged; nothing had changed but the wedding date—or had it?

At the moment, I wasn't feeling warm and fuzzy toward my fiancé. If he had another woman on his mind, should I really be granting Erik an all access pass to my body until he got his shit together? Or would I catch more flies with honey by indulging Erik in our nightly ritual of tantric sex?

Oh God, I was so confused. Why now, when life was flowing smoothly down the river of promise? I _had_ to drag Erik to the opera, so technically it was my fault, right? No, not right, he wanted me to go with him—insisted on actually. And it was a magical evening until…

Christine.

One never forgets the first person who made them weak in the knees, the one who breaks your heart. The first time you see them again and they show interest in you, it is like gasoline on a candle.

And it feels…good.

A tightly wrapped person, one who knows how to filter his or her feelings, can handle the temptation and put it in its proper perspective. Erik, however, is a man unaccustomed to the nuances of personal relationships.

So when he encountered Christine at the opera, residual feelings may have resurfaced. Knowing Erik, he'd been ruminating on what it all meant.

Lord knows the man is a passionate and intense human being. I pray that in his wisdom, he realizes Christine is merely a dream from the past and nothing more.

_What if he does choose Christine over me_?

No, do not think such black thoughts Gabrielle!

Merde! Christine was the Pandora of Erik's life.

It was time for me to write some letters; visit some old friends.

It was time for me to form a strategy.

- 0 -

_**Don't be mad at Erik, he's flummoxed by Christine's advances and he doesn't understand how you can feel love for two different women at the same time. He'll learn, but I warn you, it's going to be a bumpy ride.**_

_**Now, please, I beg of you, a review!**_


	56. Ch 56 Allies

_**Thank you for your opinions, ideas and for the creative comments,\; among the funniest: oh pooshits, Holy Crap, Men suck and the Karma, karma, karma, chameleon will come back to bite (Erik) him on the$$. And why shouldn't it, he is only human beneath all of his dark elegance!**_

**(Warning for rude language)**

**CH 56 Allies…**

"You, young woman, are a tenacious survivor," astute words from Dr. Burns, my wise psychologist from back in Chicago.

My tenure upon his couch began shortly after Tony and I started dating. Dr. Burns took me through childhood regression, scrutinizing my relationship with a loving but perennially preoccupied father and my absentee fruitcake of a mother, and then through the entire three-year saga of Tony.

After one particularly dark weekend, I mentioned that the idea of checking out had appealed to me. Of course I would never really kill myself, at least intentionally, I mean, there just had to be a pony somewhere in all that pony crap.

Dr. Burns would smile, shake his head and then he'd say, "Gabrielle, life may suck from time to time, but you never allow the devil to win; why start to now?"

Yep, that's me, Gabrielle, the survivor. Unfortunately, Dr. Burns hadn't made the time jump with me.

But he'd been right about the tenacious survivor part. Distraught though I was over Erik, I vowed not to let the difficulties of living among the people and traditions of this age dissuade me from making my way.

I lamented the fact that only last year George Sands had passed. Now that's a woman I would have liked to know; a woman with real moxie, a celebrated author who, as a matter of comfort, wore men's clothes, went wherever she wished sans-chaperone and shunned the traditional bindings of Victorian age marriage.

My new friend, the esteemed Mary Anne was also one of the most celebrated authors in the world. I'd birthed an idea to write her of my troubles here at the manor and to ask if she knew of a place where I could take refuge and obtain honest employment should things not work out with Erik.

Not an easy letter for me to write, but I needed to be logical. If anyone could help me, it would be Mary Anne and her circle of avant-garde friends. She was a champion of the strong and independent woman, and she liked my writing.

_I am woman; hear me roar_. She would have liked that song, at least the lyrics.

I'd long since picked myself up from the floor of the water closet and slid into the bathing room for a soaking bath. Marie checked in on me once, rapping lightly on the door to see if I were still among the living.

"I'm fine Marie; I'll take a glass of wine and retire to my room if you don't mind."

Which she shouldn't have, the supper hour had long past and if she'd had a heart to heart with her employer, she knew I didn't want company.

"I'll bring you up a tray dear. Are you certain that you are alright?" she asked with concern.

"Yes Marie, we'll chat tomorrow if you don't mind."

"Of course."

I heard the sound of her shoes clicking down the upstairs hall.

More relaxed and looking like a prune from my lengthy soak, I now lay on my bed with parchment and pen in hand and a book beneath them for support.

I sipped the wine Marie had graciously brought me, along with an untouched cheese pie, and began to pen one letter to Mary Ann and another to Erik's dear old friend, the Daroga.

I felt I could trust the Persian. If anyone could shed light on how best to handle Erik and the Christine situation, he could. Perhaps he would even talk some sense into me. When he last visited the manor, I got the sense that the man was never very fond of Christine as a love interest for Erik; to young, too naive. He appeared to approve of me robustly (or was it merely my cooking?).

Maybe, just maybe, that would turn out to be an ace for me. The hour was late and my eyes began to blur. I'd have to wait to send the letters until tomorrow morning.

The way the mail ran, the post to Paris would take three days, four to London.

After spending my formative years in a household where my mother's favorite evening recreation was to scream, cry, yell and break things against the walls, I was a master at sleep during wartime.

I may be brokenhearted over Erik's indecision, but by golly, I could still shut down and sleep. Enough wine and it was off to sleepy-bye land.

"What the fu…" I popped up as if my butt was on fire. The door, someone was knocking loudly at my door. Being pulled from deep sleep into the land of the living, I felt disoriented and I forgot where I was. Then I heard the familiar sensuality of Erik's tenor. Even when ticked off, his voice mesmerized.

"Gabrielle, have you retired dear?"

"Ummm, and you just woke me too," I croaked.

"Oh…so sorry, may I enter?"

No, get lost. I did not answer hoping instead that he would think I'd fallen back to sleep. 

No such luck, I heard the click of the door and a muted shaft of light cut a slice into the room. I couldn't hear Erik, but I knew he must be moving toward the bed.

Burying my face into my pillow, I acted as if I were slipping back into twilight sleep.

The mattress depressed when he parked his frame next to me.

"You choose not to sleep in my bed tonight, Gabrielle?" He sounded genuinely hurt.

I moaned into the pillow and turned over; shielding my eyes with the back of my hand against the small candle Erik had placed next to the bed.

"I'm tired Erik. I only want to rest, if you don't mind."

"I shall miss the warmth of your soft body next to me. Your presence helps me to sleep," he placed the candle holder on the edge of the bed table and bent over me, gently brushing the hair from my face.

"You'll live." I replied dryly. I was not in the mood.

He raked a hand through his hair and blew out a substantial sigh, "It is what I said earlier today, that I wanted to postpone the wedding until next month, isn't it? The time will pass before you blink, Gabrielle. I, I am simply befuddled…a momentary affliction no doubt. Bear with me and all will be well."

"Erik, you probably don't realize how your decisions and actions affect others, but they do. It's not all about you; it's about me too. You threw me a sharp curve ball that I couldn't catch and it hit me on the noggin."

He cocked his head and frowned.

"Sports analogy; look, you surprised me greatly today and I feel led to think you're having second thoughts about marrying me. That's a heavy weight to bear, Erik. I'm sad and I'm hurt."

"Whatever for? A few additional weeks are not too long a wait for what shall be an eternal bond. It is imperative that my wits be about me before we become one in marriage. It is of the utmost that you comprehend the issue at hand, Gabrielle."

I looked into his eyes with difficulty, "What I understand is that until that letter arrived from Christine you were all set for our wedding. Then, poof, your mood changes, you are no longer so sure of me, of _us_. Forgive me if I find that suspect, Erik." Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

He shifted in the bed and placed his warm hands over mine. The affectionate gesture caused my blood to freeze. I pulled away from him for fear I might disintegrate into a heap of wet rags.

"Gabrielle…"

I cut him off, "I am not finished! You told me I was the only person ever to touch your soul, to make you feel that you were not a beggar; that even Christine made you feel like a beggar. On the night she kissed you, that last night, even in her final act of compassion; there was hesitation in her eyes, as if she needed to shore up courage to put her lips upon yours. Erik, have I ever hesitated in such a manner?"

"Never." He turned away from me to stare into the candle,

"The reason I chose to sleep alone is because of your indecision, Erik. If you have another woman tearing at the corners of your mind, then I cannot in good self-esteem allow you access to my body until I know that you will not discard me."

"Dearest Gabrielle, I would never discard you! And I did not say that I was leaving you for Christine. Why, how absurd. The prospect of a friendship with her has caused you to become delusional with jealousy."

"Ha!" I sat straight up I bed and jabbed a finger at him, "I'm not stupid enough to be jealous, but I am savvy enough to know when another woman has planted doubt into a man's mind.

"I daresay; you've no clue as to what you speak of woman."

"You may be a genius Erik, but not when it comes to the intricacies if love. I've been through hell and back; I know what this devil looks like." I raised my voice and balanced on my knees so I could look directly into his eyes.

"Do you not love me?"

"Of course I love you, why would you say such a thing Erik?"

"Then you would not cut me off from your affections."

"I'm not!"

"But you are!"

"I have chosen to refrain from fucking you or being fucked by you until we are wed. Putting the cart before the horse only causes pain Erik, and at the moment, I'm already knee deep in it. If you think I'm going to pleasure you while you pause to purge your mind of doubt, then you truly are a madman."

I was disarmed when his face turned red. All at once, I felt that watery sensation in the back of my throat, the sort that travels to the mouth. I started to perspire. Oh my lord, I was going to yack.

Making it down the hall to the water closet was out of the question. Frantically, I glanced around the room for a useful receptacle. Thank the graces there was no water in the porcelain washbasin. I sprinted from the bed to the washstand, clutched my hair in one hand, held onto the washbowl with the other, and threw up.

How I deplored doing that in front of others.

"Gabrielle, what's wrong dear?" Erik sounded alarmed and rushed to my side.

I shooed him away, "Bad cheese I suppose; I'll be okay. Let me take care of the carnage, freshen up and get some sleep."

"You're ill, Gabrielle. Would you like for me to stay with you? Whatever you require, anything at all, please you must alert me, even if I am sleeping."

"No, Erik. Please go to bed. We'll talk in the morning…if I'm up to it."

"Yes, naturally," his eyes were bereft with concern, worry or perhaps the lost promise of sex. He looked pitiful, the only bright spot in my otherwise horrific day.

I tottered off to the water closet and Erik slunk away to his cold, lonely bed.

- 0 -

_**Don't Punjab me for the angst; after all, you'd be bored with constant bliss. The reviews are much appreciated; keep them coming.**_

_**-Leesa**_


	57. Ch 57 Grasping

_**You all rock for the reviews. Keep them coming. I'd like to see them hit 500 on this one, so everyone get busy! While useful, they have also been hot and cold running humorous… "There's an Erik-Bun in the oven" (maybe, maybe not); "Understand this, if you think I'm going to get used to your left hand again, after being inside the gates of heaven, you're crazy"; Quotes from Grease and all around feedback, suggestions and support for the story. **_

_**Thanks X-K **_

_**-Leesainthesky **_

**Ch 57 Grasping at Straws **

Change of plans; the letter to Mary Anne would go to post; the one to Erik's friend, Nadir Khan, would not.

Up with the birds and out into the world of the morning dwellers I went.

The Roux's weren't even stirring when I crept into the stable and hooked up the little brougham. Erik recognized my astute ability to work with all things equestrian and gave me carte blanche with his horses and carriages as long as he would not be in need of them at the same time. With his assistance, I became quite adept at working the little two-person buggy.

A trip into Paris on a clear, brisk September day would do me a world of good.

Still feeling queasy since last night's bout of nausea, I'd imbibed on only a cup of tea with milk and a bit of bread. If I felt like it, I could grab a bite in a café.

My destination was the Rue de Rivoli section of Paris where the Daroga lived. Calling on a gentleman uninvited and unannounced was unheard of in the 1877, but then I figured that the Persian was used to Erik's eccentricities, so he could expect a few from the Phantom's fiancée too.

Living in emotional purgatory was driving me nuts. I needed the power of knowledge and I knew the Daroga was able to afford me such insight into the mind and method of Erik DuPuis.

Nadir Khan's little flat sat within a row of buildings across from the Tuileries, the most central park in Paris. A walk along the Seine or perusing the riches of the Louvre tempted me to stray from my mission if only for a moment, but I resisted, staying my course.

I looped the brougham to the iron hitch in front of 302 Rue de Rivoli and swiftly ascended the short flight of stairs up to the flat. The sooner I processed this personal issue, the better.

Two matching blue doors met me at the top of the flight; both equally shabby in their appearance with simple brass knockers affixed to them. I inhaled a breath of courage and rapped lightly.

Locks turned in their tumblers and the door opened a crack, revealing the serious face of a smooth skinned Persian man in his mid 40's.

The look he offered me was one that had met me numerous times as a reporter; the _what in the Sam hill do you want lady,_ look.

I figured that my introduction had better be worthy of a positive response from the dour servant.

"Good day, Monsieur, I am Madame Gabrielle Thomassen…the fiancée of Erik DuPuis. Is the Daroga in?"

"Might he be expecting your visit today, Madame?"

"Frankly, no, but it is of the utmost importance that I speak with him. It concerns his friend Erik."

His face softened ever so slightly and he opened the door for me to enter.

"Please enter Madame and have a seat." He gestured to a small parlor area. "I shall alert Monsieur Khan to your presence."

Off he went down a narrow hall and into another room.

I choose the room's worn loveseat and perched attentively on its edge, fondling a basket filled with a dozen cheese almond croissants I'd baked for Nadir, and admired the many accessories which hinted of his rich heritage.

A Persian rug covered the floor, brass lamps adorned a small curio, and gold threaded hangings decorated the walls. On one teakwood table was a worn photo of a beautiful dark-skinned woman and a young boy with dancing eyes, which I assumed to have once been his family.

"My wife and son."

"Oh, hello Monsieur Khan," I turned toward his voice, an intriguing mixture of Middle Eastern and French.

"What a handsome pair," I indicated the faded photograph.

"Yes, they were the light of my life. My wife, Rookheeya, has been gone many years now, and Reza, nearly twenty. He and Erik shared between them a kind of magical communion."

"I'm sorry for your misfortune. And forgive me for popping in on you unannounced."

"Think nothing of it Madame. To me, Erik has become family, and so that would make you family as well. If you've come for my reply to the wedding invitation, I sent in the post two days back. A formality since you know I would never miss the event of the century," he said with humor.

"Not exactly, Nadir. I'm here because I—I really could use a hearty dose of wisdom, and you were the person I thought of."

"Erik, is he ill?" Concern lit his features.

"Ill? You could call it that." I laughed, and handed him the basket of croissants.

Nadir seated himself in a chair to my right. Hs eyes lit up with happy surprise when he lifted the cover to reveal the fresh buttery croissants nestled within.

"Gracious, you have blessed with your cooking, and just in time for my morning meal! Merci, Madame. Would you care to join me for coffee and pastries, Madame Thomassen?"

"If you've enough there to spare," I chided the Persian. "I would at least love a cup of coffee though. And please no formalities, Monsieur. Call me Gabrielle."

"And you must call me Nadir."

"Darius," he called for his manservant, who apparently had been waiting around the corner for his master's call.

"Please, coffee for my guest and me." Darius bowed and disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

Folding his graceful hands and sitting back tall in the chair, the Persian observed me inquisitively.

"And so has our dear Erik found ways to exasperate you so close to the wedding dear lady?"

"And how, Nadir; I've done everything I know to make him happy. Well, I've not lain prostrate at his feet in idol worship or anything.

_Although maybe I ought to, that sort of butt kissing is working for a certain lady from his past. _

"Erik wants to postpone our wedding for another month so he can be, _certain_."

Nadir frowned sympathetically, "Not an imprudent suggestion, yet I thought Erik was delighted at the prospect of becoming a husband to you, Gabrielle."

"Me too, Nadir. His new opera opened to rave reviews, his architectural firm receives more and more prestigious contracts regularly. All seemed well, including us, until the night of the opera Gala. Oh, Nadir he took me to see it! It was glorious and he had such a time, until Christine Daae, de Chagny, or whatever her name is showed up just as we were making our exit from the theatre."

"Dear Allah! Christine was there? Did Erik speak with her?"

"Oh yes indeed. At first when he heard her calling him in the lobby, he ignored her and hurried me along, but the woman persisted and eventually caught up with us. What could he do Nadir? Erik is seldom rude to women."

"One of his odd saving graces."

I retraced the disquieting events from the past two weeks for Nadir. He listened with patient concern, nodding or furrowing his brow in all the right places.

"…And two days after the Gala, a special delivery letter arrived with rose sealing wax. I knew it was from a woman. Nadir, please know that I am not the jealous type, but when Erik let it slip that that seal's imprint was that of the de Chagny crest, I smelled a rat. May the good Lord forgive me but do you know what I did?"

"What you felt you must, I am sure."

"Please don't think wrongly of me when I tell you, this is not normal behavior for me, but when dealing with Erik you do what you must…"

"A truth to be sure!" he agreed.

"I opened the letter and I read it."

The Persian remained nonplused. "And was it from Madame de Chagny?"

"You bet 'cha…ah, yes it most certainly was. Here, let me quote from memory the last part of her letter;_ 'Please Erik, if you have any love left within your heart for me, do you not owe it to yourself to discover what may be your true fate? After all, darling, we have only but one life to live. We belong together, blah, blah, blah.'_ To cut to the chase, she now knows that they are soul mates and could they arrange a meeting?"

I teared up recounting the contents of Christine's wretched note.

The Persian's face melted with genuine compassion.

"May Allah have mercy; this is a dreadful development dear lady. Erik will not honor her request will he?"

I grimaced and looked away from him, "He says he loves me and still wishes to marry me, but he needs…he needs to be sure it is the right thing to do. Nadir," I bit back a sob, "please, tell me what to do! If I lose him…"

"Gabrielle, you mustn't grieve, he will not discard you for Christine. I have witnessed you together. No one could tame the beast within Erik's soul as you have dear. In you he has found his perfect mate."

"Funny, that's what he used to tell me too, Nadir," I whispered softly, raising my eyes to meet his.

I sipped my coffee and wrapped my arms around my waist attempting to guard against a sudden chill.

"You are cold, here." Nadir rose and removed a multi colored afghan from the back of his divan and draped it around my shoulders.

"Thank you Monsieur. Nadir, I know that Erik loves me and he's been under some terrific pressure with his opera, the wedding, his building projects and now _this. _It's not out of the question that his re-encounter with Christine would resurrect residual feelings. He could very possibly wonder what does this all mean; do I still love her and if so, what does the wondering mean?"

"Erik's strong suit was never in matters of the heart. Those whom he lavished his attentions upon rejected him and now, the first woman to ever kiss him has returned a widow," Nadir said, tenting the tips of his fingers together and staring at them thoughtfully.

"I guess you knew about that too—the Comte's accident."

"Indeed, we, that is, all who care for Erik's well being, wished to protect him against his morbid curiosity. Then you entered his life and he'd become smitten. There was no reason to disturb what was blossoming between the two of you."

"Of Nadir, that is so sweet, really, Erik has such good friends. I hope he knows that." I managed a pitiful smile at the man.

"Gabrielle, the change in Erik was a miracle."

"Yes well, Erik had never had a woman before either," I smiled coyly.

"A pleasure no man should ever leave this life without experiencing. Forgive my boldness when I assume that a woman from your time and culture must be far more educated in such pleasures than the ladies of our time. Persian men, we are not shy about our appetites and our women are well schooled in the acts of physical satisfaction, not like the pristine Europeans. Even the majority of French women are known to loathe the act."

_Do my ears deceive me? Nadir was asking me personal details about getting freaky! _

"Why Nadir, you're curious aren't you, my darling Daroga," I lightly teased.

He dipped his head with mild embarrassment, "Forgive me, but I am. Erik…a man of his imagination and grace, how was he as a—?"

"—As a lover? Shy, at first, but most willing, as you can only imagine, Nadir. Contrary to what you may think Monsieur, I am not exceptionally experienced. I'm of the Christian faith and not prone to relations with men I don't hope to marry, but I've sampled a few and I must say, Erik, with his artist's mind, long fingers and splendid anatomy, well, I'll just stop there." I grinned for the first time all morning, watching the experienced man's already brown cheeks deepen in color.

"I expect nothing less from Erik; he is a passionate man, too passionate for the Comtess. His mind toys with a memory. Should he act upon it, he is indeed not worthy of his own intellect. Erik once loved the illusion of Christine, but it is you he loves Gabrielle, the living, breathing, lovely woman."

_I hoped upon hope that he was right in his assessment. _

"A visit to my old friend is in order. I will get to the bottom of this ridiculous nonsense. As for Christine, she has his mind confused. Where he once had no choice to love, he now thinks there are two. He does not love her, no, not as he loves you. There is an aura around you when you and Erik are together. When I first met you, it glowed like fire—twin spirits meant to be."

_I liked to think I had found the mythical soul mate of legend in Erik, but then I suspect my penchant for romance is not unlike what the heel was to Achilles. _

Nadir and I spent the next few minutes mulling over the morning's conversation in silence.

Then I remembered the other issue I had for him.

"Before I leave you Nadir, I do have one other question for you."

"Do go on dear."

"There's this fellow who owns part of the new Lyric opera house where Erik's latest opera is playing. His name is Monsieur Vincenzo, Viktor if I remember right. He swears that he knows me from somewhere, the problem is I don't remember him and I seldom forget a face."

Nadir pulled on his salt and pepper eyebrows, probably a habit of concentration gleaned from his days as a detective."

"Could he have seen you about in the city?"

"Possible, but doubtful; the man has been dropping creepy hints my way, as if he knows my true identity." I hoped he caught my drift.

"Antareh Gaav! Do you believe this man is also a time traveler, Gabrielle?"

"I can't say for sure, but he's alluded to it twice now. On the night the Opera Gala, the man asked me if I was related to a scientist by the name of Dr. Jonathan Thomassen. Nadir, that is my father's name."

"An ancestor perhaps?"

"Not possible."

"A guess of luck?"

"If it is it's a colossal coincidence. There could be other time travelers besides my self, Nadir. If they're from my time period and floating around Europe, they might just know of my family or me…. You may remember me telling you of how I was a television reporter in the states of, Kentucky, and Georgia and on an entertainment show in Chicago. Much of my work got broadcast nationwide, some even globally."

"You've a most impressive vocational pedigree, Madame." Nadir was impressed.

"Thank you, Nadir, but you see, it isn't that difficult to get your face in the public in the twenty first century. Information can be broadcast worldwide within a matter of seconds, into even the most secluded areas."

"Remarkable."

"Yep, and you never know what twisted mind has seen you, and wants to meet you, or rape you, or kill you…"

"Most frightening for a woman, I would think!"

"One must be vigilant."

I put my elbows on my knees and leaned in toward Nadir. "Here's the thing; Erik tells me you are a cunning detective, do you think you can check this Vincenzo guy out for me—find out what his deal is? I have enough bricks on my shoulders as it is with Erik and that diva, I don't need more problems."

"Indeed, but regrettably dear lady, I no longer involve myself with matters of the law as I am retired."

"Nadir, you know more than I do about how this world works. Any assistance you can give me, even a background check on Vincenzo will help me out. Please, I am a damsel in distress, Monsieur." I said with pleading eyes.

The Persian smiled kindly, his white teeth shining like pearls from beneath his mustache. "Gabrielle, you do make it hard for a man to refuse you. I'll do whatever is in my power to find out about this fellow. Is it acceptable for me to correspond with you at the manor?"

"I don't see why not; Erik doesn't open my letters, at least I don't think he does."

"If he did, you would never know of it," he said with a sly wink.

"How true," I laughed. "He is the stealthiest person I've ever known, bar none."

I grabbed another sip of my coffee, replaced the cup on its saucer and rose to leave.

I thanked the Daroga for his time and hospitality. Nadir escorted me to the door and hugged me, a very uncharacteristic gesture for a man of his culture.

"Do not worry, Gabrielle; all will be as it should." He reassured me.

"Nadir, I only hope you are right."

Surreal; this Persian man who once policed a bloody nineteenth century country and the twenty-first century America woman forming an unlikely alliance over a man who would become a legend.

One visit down and one to go. My next stop was the St-Germain-des-Prés, the area of Paris where the Comtess de Chagny lived when in the city.

- 0 -

_Author's note: Antareh Gaav is Farsi for annoying idiot/cow _

**_Please review and merci to my beta-gal Amy! _**

_**-Leesa **_


	58. Ch 58 Tea and Sympathy

_**Hi there, Thanks for the reviews, they've been great. Keep it up. Hi to my lurkers too. Thanks to my beta Amy and my muse, Erik (can men be muses?) **_

**Ring the bell, it's round one…**

**Ch 58 Tea and Sympathy**

_All right you French pop-tart, keep your paws off my man or I'll jack you up. Perhaps a swift shove of my foot up your arse, Madame?_

I smiled gleefully thinking of how the Comtess' face would distort when I voiced my fantasy intentions to her tender, bejeweled ears.

Such delicious daydreams; ones that nearly got me killed. I heard yelling and the crack of a whip snapping me back to reality in time to see a mighty team of omnibus horses bearing down on the tiny brougham.

"_Oh shit_," I said in English. I'd drifted into the path of the mass transit vehicle. Empress Agnier, the name Henri had given to my carriage horse, whinnied a frenzied warning and I pulled her up and around in one quick move. We'd missed the omnibus by a nose.

"Women, they should never be allowed to drive," someone shouted in French.

_Geez Gab, the very last thing you need to do is wreck Erik's brougham._

_I could imagine the conversation we'd have; Now tell me darling, how did you crash the carriage?_

_It's like this Erik; I'd just left Nadir's flat and was on my way to Christine's when out of nowhere an omnibus flew at me!_

Yelpers, that'd go over swell.

I pulled out of the traffic flow; waiting for the marching band in my heart to cease it's thumping, and allowed the Empress to chill out as well.

_Pay attention_, I told myself. Slowly and steadily, I eased my way back into the fray of cabriolets, omnibuses, carriages and foot traffic and made my way to the shee-shee pooh-pooh side of town.

I delighted in the street life there; wonderful shops and cafes overflowing with painters like Delacroix, Ingres and Manet, writers like Racine and Balzac, or actors like Mounet-Sully, creating or discussing culture and truth, mingling in with the well- heeled supporters of the arts.

The de Chagny townhouse sat among a row of elegant whitewashed buildings simply adorned along the front with numerous fruit trees. I parked the brougham close to a water trough for the Empress to revive herself and walked the half block to my destination. With immense apprehension, I mounted the stairs, pacifying myself only when I resurrected the anger I felt toward the noble woman for trying to snag my man.

Pressing the brass bell on her door, I practiced deep breathing and shored up my courage to face the woman with cool grace.

_I will not bitch slap her_, I repeated in my head. The thought made me smile so when her butler answered the door, I had a pleasant expression plastered on my face.

"Good day Madame, have you business with the Comtess today?" inquired the slightly middle-aged man in a respectful voice.

"Why yes, I'm an old friend and I'm afraid she is not expecting me. Would you kindly tell her that Madame Gabrielle Thomassen, fiancée of Monsieur Erik DuPuis, is calling?" I said, sweetly assigning the fiancé part in case she forgot my name.

"Please enter Madame; I shall fetch the Comtess straight away," he nodded leaving me standing in the grand entrance of Christine's townhouse.

I'd been checking out my image in one of the gilded mirrors when the tiny Comtess swept into the room in a cloud of violet, the scent of vanilla swirling around her. Smiling as if I was a dear friend, she held out her delicate ivory her hands to me.

"Madame Thomassen, Gabrielle, my, what a delightful surprise; whatever are you doing in my part of Paris this morning?"

_As if I couldn't have friends in her tony zip code. _

"Forgive my uninvited intrusion, Comtess de Chagny," I curtsied with a smile. "I would like to say this is a social visit, but it is more of a personal nature."

"Please, you must call me Christine; I never did become used to the formalities of my husband's station."

"Christine…do you mind if we sit. I wish to speak with you about an urgent matter."

Her milky forehead creased slightly when she frowned. "Gracious yes, Gabrielle."

_She was sweet, pretty and genuine. Damn it, I really, really wanted to despise her._

Christine led me through a wide hallway with enormous paintings, the real deal of course, past a massively stocked library. We turned down another hallway with long narrow gilded mirrors and flowers everywhere. She paused at the entrance to a cheery room decorated in the Louis Philippe style.

"Please after you," she motioned me into the room. I waited for her to seat herself and took the opposing chair, crossing my ankles and striking a rigid posture; I didn't wish to make myself too comfortable.

Christine reached over to the rectangular table between us and picked up a large brass bell, which she rang. Within seconds a servant appeared, dressed in crisp white. "Yes your Grace, what is your pleasure?"

"Bring us tea and a plate of those fresh croissants, would you Marion, dear?"

"Right away, your Grace" the woman bowed and left us to our visit.

"Well," Christine folded her hands, rested them on the fabric of her violet silk day dress and sat up primly. "How may I be of service to you, Gabrielle?"

"The reason I've called today is to discuss Erik."

Her eyes widened into an expression of _oh really_, "Erik? I am afraid I do not know him well at all, but I shall assist you in your curiosity if I can. What is it you wish to know? "

"First of all, I think it only fair for you to know that I am aware of the angel of music and of how he once tutored you and of his fruitless attempt to woo you. I know of Don Juan Triumphant and of how he nearly killed your then fiancée, the Vicomte. I know that Erik's admiration of you was obsessive and deep. There, now we are on even footing and there need be no secrets between us, what I want to know is how you feel about him today, Christine. Do you still love my fiancée?"

"Dearest Gabrielle, when I was but a child, Erik enchanted and enraged me. Where his power once terrified me, it now only reminds me of the man's passionate inner beauty. I fear that I was ghastly to him and I would like the opportunity to make up for my youthful indiscretions. Surely you have no objections to my having him tutor my voice?"

"Let's cut to the core of this rotten apple, Christine. I am a savvy woman, a writer and some would say, even an intellectual."

"Then you and Erik are very well matched indeed!" she trilled like a bird.

"Look Comtess, I _know_ things, like when a woman is interested in another woman's man beyond platonic relationship."

"Gabrielle, whatever do you mean?" she said with innocence.

I narrowed my eyes and spoke with purpose, "I mean, in the most gracious way I know possible, to say that although I realize you and my fiancé have a history, it was many years ago. Erik and I are happy, Christine. Surely you saw that for yourself the evening of the Gala."

Except for a considerable widening of her eyes, the little Comtess contained her composure.

I was blunt to the point of rudeness.

"Stop sending him perfumed letters; do not approach him at the opera or any other place until we are wed. Do you understand? You hung him out to dry six years ago. He pined for you for a good many of those. He does not need you popping back into his life and opening up old wounds that had been healed over for years. Leave him be—move on with your own life."

The woman sitting opposite me had taken on the appearance of the ice queen. Her perfect mouth was a thin pink line; her hazel eyes, a steely gray.

Good, she understood where I was coming from.

Marion, the white starched woman, returned with a silver tray laden with croissants, jams and tea. She poured tea into fragile china cups, serving me and then her mistress. Christine spooned sugar into her cup with a silver spoon and stirred slowly. I did not move.

"Gabrielle, I am not the sort of woman to steal another woman's lover from her arms." She said as if the thought burdened her greatly.

"It is with much agonizing that I make the choice to connect once more with my former teacher. Oh, you do believe me don't you? "Christine pleaded.

"I wish not to bring turmoil to your household."

"Really now," I said narrowing my eyes and arching my eyebrows at her.

"Erik, he meant the world to me. I could never erase his memory from my mind, Gabrielle. As much as I adored my Raoul, I often wondered what it would have been like to have mated with Erik." Her eyes never left the contents of her cup.

"Indescribable ecstasy," I smirked, quite happy with myself to see that I had rattled Christine. She was midway through a sip of tea when I spoke, and she sputtered and coughed.

"My Grace, are you all right?" Marion rushed to her employer's side, but Christine shooed the woman away and lifted her napkin to dab at the corners of her mouth.

Quickly she recouped her poise, "My, my Gabrielle, you aren't a shy thing are you?"

"I am discreet when necessary. We are grown women and you did ask me a direct personal question; you deserved a direct and honest answer."

"Then dearest Gabrielle, I shall be honest with you. Erik was once my mentor, my guide and guardian. His passion led him to write a searing, sensual opera. The man risked all for me yet I was far too naive and inexperienced to comprehend what it all meant. And now, fate presents me with another chance to right my past wrongs. You'll forgive my intrusion, but you and he are not yet wed."

Christine perched on the edge of her seat, her voice rising, I thought the little minx might be preparing for a face off, but she remained seated as she finished her spirited speech, "Do you understand, Madame?"

Without saying a word, I rose, placed the cup and saucer on the table between us, picked the cup back up by its fragile handle, then leaned over the table and ever so calmly dumped the contents of the cup into the Christine's lap.

Christine gasped, looking exasperated; all she managed to do was glance down at her wet lap and then back up at my face.

"I understand _completely_. Thank you for your hospitality, dear Comtess. I shall see myself out."

_Okey dokey—now what?_

I knew Christine wouldn't dare tell Erik of our confrontation; in a calculated move I let on that, I knew too much about her. At least the woman's intentions were now crystal clear; she wanted to win back Erik. Like hell she would, I told myself.

Sure, Christine held a spot in Erik's heart, but it was I who held the key. If I remained calm, savvy and strategic in my actions, I was certain that Erik's infatuation would wane and I would once again be the woman who occupied his gray matter 100 percent of the time.

The September day turned warmer. It was perfect; the sort of day a bride hopes for on her wedding day, the sort I had hoped for. Now we would marry in late October, when the days began to turn cold and brittle.

My mind needed clearing before I headed back to the country. I decided a walk would do me some good, so I parked the brougham along the Seine and strolled along its historic banks, hoping for clarity.

Two hours later, feeling tolerably better, I returned to the manor. Nadir Khan had already arrived.

Damn, the man doesn't waste time; while I chatted it up with Christine and sauntered down the banks of the Seine, Nadir was on his way to pick Erik's mind.

The Empress Angier whined and trotted us around the manor house to the stables; I assumed she was on the hunt for some oats. There I found Henri grooming Dante. The stallion snorted low and nudged at the pocket of my cloak, rooting around for treats.

"Sorry big fella, nothing for you right now." I scratched his chin.

"Back over here ya beggar," Henry gently tugged on the halter, steering the big stallion's head back around so he could work on the horse's mane.

"Had an early appointment in the city did you dear?"

"Yes, very early. I visited a new friend and checked on my wedding dress."

Not in the mood for discussion, I gave Henry no more information than necessary and began to un-hitch the Empress from the carriage.

"Leave it," Henri ordered me. "If you don't cease sticking your fingers in my job, pretty soon I'll have none."

"Oh pooh, Erik would never release you Henri, he needs you." I patted the man on his back. "But if you insist, I'll leave the Empress and her carriage for you to deal with."

"Did you notice? You're not the only one making your calls today. We have company."

"I recognize the horse; when did Monsieur Khan arrive, Henri?"

"He's been here maybe thirty minutes."

"I see." Before I could slip through the barn door, Henri stopped me.

"Gabrielle, have patience with Monsieur DuPuis. He knows little of love and even less of his own heart. You are the only woman who has ever truly loved him."

No secrets here. Surprised to hear Henri voice an opinion on the turmoil brewing inside the manor house walls, I whirled around to look at him.

"Dear Henri, while patience is a virtue, I fear it's one that I'm wearing thin on."

"Have faith, dear."

"Faith, yes. Thank you and your wife for your kindness Henry."

He nodded, "Gabrielle, Marie and I, we have grown quite fond of you. Know that you may count on our support."

"I shall." His sincerity of his concern caused me to tear up. I exited the barn with haste, willing away the tears as I strode toward the back entrance of the manor house.

Upon entering the kitchen through the back entrance, Marie immediately pounced on me, "Gabrielle, where were you girl? You left without a word to anyone this morning. Monsieur DuPuis was not pleased."

"Too bad for him. I don't have to tell him of my every move you know, Marie."

She frowned at my impertinence, "Gabrielle, it is unfitting to speak so of the lord of the manor."

I brushed off her archaic graces and changed the subject to the visitor.

"I saw Monsieur Khan's horse. Where is he? I wish to say hello to him."

"That is why I stopped you at the back door Gabrielle. He and Erik have been in the library with the doors sealed for over half an hour now. I brought tea to them and heard them having a row. I knocked and they ceased long enough for me to deliver the tea. Monsieur DuPuis demanded that they not be disturbed whatsoever."

I wrinkled my brow. I sure wish I could eaves drop on that conversation since I had an idea what the subject matter was.

"Don't fret Marie, I wouldn't dream of interrupting them; man stuff no doubt."

Marie held onto my arm lightly, "Are you well dear? You look a bit peaked."

"Oh I'm fine, just feeling a bit punk, I think I need to eat. I'll go ahead and fix the midday meal now that it's nearly one o'clock."

"I can take care of the meal if you like while you take a rest, dear," she offered.

"Thank you Marie, but you'll do no such thing. I picked up some cheese while I was out this morning, I'll nibble on that as I prepare the food. No go, please before you wear me out with your kindness."

Marie didn't know whether to laugh or take offense at my cheeky remark, so she simply shot me an addled smile, and left to gather supplies for sweeping the rugs in the upstairs bedrooms.

Thank the lord; I didn't think she'd ever leave me alone. Now I can be the little mouse in the pantry and do some information gathering.

I lit the oven and removed the cassoulet, which I'd prepared the night before, from the icebox and placed it into the oven. I could hear Marie ascending the stairs with her brooms and dustpan.

Hearing no other footsteps within the house, I stepped into the pantry and slid the pocket door half way to conceal my obvious action of eavesdropping. It was so very easy to hear every word from the library, and I could just see through a crack in a joint in the paneling the back of Erik's head. He sat across from Nadir.

Erik addressed his friend tersely, "You are sorely mistaken Daroga, Christine wishes only to resume her lessons. How dare you insinuate otherwise."

"Perhaps that is what you believe Erik, but proper ladies are not known to seek such intimate contact with engaged men. This is, of course, not just any other woman either, this is Christine." He retorted evenly. "When I read your letter informing me of the change in wedding plans, I sensed discord, Erik."

"Yes, I forget Daroga, that you are a master clairvoyant."

"One needs not be clairvoyant when dealing with the whims of Erik DuPuis."

"You insult me in my own home! The decision of which you speak was made in good conscience. I told you already, Christine claims she still loves me and wants to arrange a meeting. Do I not owe that to her?"

"Pray tell Erik, why do you owe her anything?"

"She was one of few humans who offered me kindness, you know that Daroga."

"If my memory serves me, that affair did not end well for you."

I couldn't see Erik's face but I imagined him glowering at Nadir.

"Tell me in truth, Erik—do you still love Christine?"

My heart caught in my throat.

I saw Erik shift in his chair, he then sighed, "I never stopped loving her."

"I see. And do you love Gabrielle as well?"

"I do. God help me, how can a man love two women at once? Surely it is a grave betrayal of the institution of love; may Cupid strike me dead with his arrows."

"Oh, you are not the first man in history to love more than one woman simultaneously, nor will you be the last. I am sorry Erik, but this quandary does not make you unique. The question is Monsieur, whom do you love more?"

- 0 -

_**Big gasp; hold your breath for chapter 59! Please review this one for me; I'd like to know what you think about the Christine/Gabrielle confrontation. Naturally, Gab wanted to strangle her, but she decided it wouldn't be prudent. **_

_**-Leesa**_


	59. Ch 59 Declarations

_**Whoa Nellie, What an awesome bunch of reviews. It was great to hear from all of you especially those of you who have never done so before. I think I'll go back and rewrite the first third of the fic. Do some editing and so forth…**_

_**Apologies to my beta Amy, I sent this chapter out without her approval so if you see boo boos, its me, not her.**_

Ch 59 Declarations 

Erik dropped his voice, "I love them both, Daroga, but each one differently."

"Fine," Nadir retorted in a matter of fact fashion. "But think of it Erik, which woman will make the better wife, a woman with an exceptional voice who you once obsessed over, yet never had a true relationship with, or a woman of keen wisdom and the exceptional ability to love your sorry hide, and not leave you for putting her through hell."

Erik lowered his head into his hands, "Christine, she was my muse, my dream and now she returns to me. Gabrielle is my gift, she is kind and intelligent and a joy to have in my life. She has never flinched from my touch and until I postponed our wedding date, she has never refused me in bed."

"Do you blame her Erik, what woman of your culture would wish to service a man who thinks of another?"

"No…" Erik replied weakly, "My friend, I surprise myself with my selfish deeds. Gabrielle has cared for and loved me for a year now and this is how I repay her, with loathsome indifference. I know that women from her time do not suffer fools such as myself lightly. Why, Nadir, why does she tolerate me, Nadir?"

"She loves you, you fool!"

_Duh, Erik. _For a genius he could be incredibly dense.

"My little dove, my Gabrielle—she is my choice for a mate, but before we are wed, it is imperative that I finish this business with Christine. I must be secure that she has absolutely no claim on my heart, can you comprehend my need Nadir?"

"I comprehend that you, dear friend, have no experience with love and that you believe you must do this thing. The Christine you loved was a voice, a vision; Gabrielle is warm flesh and blood. Know the difference. I warn you Erik, be prudent; do not destroy Gabrielle."

_You go Daroga;_ I cheered the Persian on from the other side of the library wall.

"Your considerable wisdom is well noted, Nadir. I love Gabrielle; it pains me when I think of the distress I have caused her. She deserves my undivided affection, after I return from Paris, this predicament will be resolved."

_Yes! _I pumped one fists in the air.

"When will you go?"

"Three days from today, I must go into Paris for the purpose of business. It is then that I will call on the Comtess de Chagny."

"Then I shall see you in October for your wedding, Monsieur?"

"If fate is in our favor, Daroga," Erik replied soberly.

_If fate is in our favor— what the hell is that Erik_?

Without thinking, I hit the pantry wall with my fist causing a few jars to jump and rattle on their shelves. Erik and Nadir jumped too, and Erik turned in the direction of the noise.

It seemed as if he looked right at me. Yarks, I spun away from the small crack in the wall. I knew he couldn't see me there, well, being Erik I hoped he hadn't seen me snooping from the other side of the wall.

In one mighty swoosh; I flew from the pantry to the oven. The cassolet needed to bake for another eighteen minutes, but I had no desire to be caught with my ear to the pantry wall.

I busied myself with setting the table. Not certain if the Daroga would be joining us, I set a place for him as well.

"Hey Erik, what's shakin' baby," I said with forced cheer when he entered the kitchen.

"I'm off to the wine cellar for a bottle of the new Beaujolais. Shall I bring up any other bottles for our upstairs stock?" he said absentmindedly.

"I think were good here," I motioned to the wooden wine rack filled with the appropriate reds and whites.

"Erik, Marie told me that Monsieur Khan is here, will he be joining us for lunch?"

"What…? Oh, Nadir; no he left already. And I won't be dining either, Gabrielle."

I'd had it with Erik's disappearing act. I found it hard to believe that he didn't have the constitution to face me when life became sticky.

The wooden spoon in my hand went airborne crashing into a row of jars filled with dried beans. Erik stood perfectly still, watching my angry display.

"Damn it Erik, why is it that you cannot take a meal with me anymore? Two weeks ago you went to Versailles for three days, last week you disappeared for nearly a week and haven't had one meal with the rest of us in days. What's up with that?"

"Gabrielle, sometimes I do not wish to eat, you know that," he said in his defense.

"Yes, when you're composing or designing. I've inkling those are not the reasons behind your recent reticence. Could you be avoiding me?"

He stalled by eyeing the contents of the wine rack with a sudden keen interest.

"Why should I avoid you, dear?

"Why don't you tell me, Erik?" He was trying to turn the focus back onto me, and I was not going to play his corner game.

"Gabrielle, you have become most irrational as of late, is it time for your monthly again? You do have a tendency toward excess displays of emotions at such times."

"You did _not_ just say that. You did not just blame my menstrual cycle for my bad mood."

"_Must_ you, Gabrielle?" He winced.

"Must I what…oh, my _menstrual_ cycle? Ha, poor Mr. Sensitive. Look here, Erik, at least I may have an excuse, what's yours for being such a turd to me lately?"

"A turd Madame? Perhaps it is you who is the _turd_."

Laughing at Erik would not be appropriate in the middle of an argument, but hearing such an indelicate word slip from his mouth was amusing. I bit my top lip until I regained my composure.

"Erik," I sighed, "Since Christine popped into our lives, you have been unreachable, your thoughts are not here, they are not with your music, or with me. I'm not a stupid girl, I know something is weighing you down, tell me, come clean before your secret destroys the both of us." I tempered my voice as I spoke in an attempt to appeal to Erik's sense of honor.

He caressed the curve of a bottle of wine before making eye contact with me. Gone were the defensive tone, and the need to throw blame.

"Gabrielle, I have always adhered to being honest with you and I won't cease doing so now."

"It's one of your more admirable traits, sweetheart."

I leaned my hips against the kitchen table and folded my arms across my chest, shoring up the strength to hear what I already knew.

"Nadir, his visit today was not a social one. Evidently the woman in my employee and her sister find it necessary to make my business theirs," Erik mussed with contempt.

"It would seem that Madame Giry lunched with Christine the day following the Opera Gala. Christine divulged to her dear friend that she still cares for me and wishes to maintain a cordial relationship. Madame Giry thinks such an idea most unwise."

"Does she now?" I said masking a wicked smirk behind my wide-eyes and winsome smile.

_I am Gabrielle, l'actrice extraordinaire!_

"Evidently she and her sister have been corresponding on the matter of our wedding, the special delivery letter and other matters of a personal nature. It seems the righteous Madame Giry could not trot over to Monsieur Khan's fast enough to confer with him about our affairs."

"I see—so your special delivery letter _was_ from the Comtess then?"

"Yes dear, you were correct in your previous assessment. I haven't been hiding the truth from you, I've been at a loss at what to tell you."

"So tell me the truth, Erik," I implored

"Gabrielle, Christine, she—she still loves me, so she claims. She has requested I visit her at her town home in Paris to be sure that there are no…" Erik paused, his eyes roamed the room and he raked a hand over the left side of his face.

"There are no what, Erik?" I narrowed my gaze.

"Feelings…for her."

"Feelings of love, is that what Christine wrote in her letter Erik?" I asked what I already knew.

"Yes."

"And do you still love her Erik?" I braced for his answer.

"Gabrielle, it is not so simple darling." He stepped toward me, and then stopped when I remained closed in my posture.

"If you do still love Christine, I understand. She was the first woman to touch your heart as a man. Her voice and delicate beauty once enchanted you. Erik, listen, I still love Tony, in a fashion, but he has no place in my life, future, past or present. I once interviewed the twentieth century R & B singer Bonnie Raitt, who told me that there are enough rooms in the house of her heart for each person that she ever loved—wise words indeed."

Erik looked to be thinking about the implications of my prior statement when I ran another one by him.

"Just because you experienced a spike of adrenaline when you met up with Christine again, does in no way mean she is the one you should be with, that is unless you really do feel that way and if that is true, tell me now so I can cut my losses and move along."

I was swimming in a deep sea of desperation trying to make sense and save our love affair.

Erik frowned. He moved away from the wine rack reached out to me, but I remained static with my arms still crossed, rejecting his affection.

His voice was low and serious, "Gabrielle, you think I do not hold you in the highest esteem? That I do not love you as the stars love the very dusk? My darling…"

"Ah, ah—Erik." I held up a hand to silence him.

"Should you determine that you do love Christine enough to choose her, remember Erik, she does not know you, she may know of your music and of your sadness, but she does not know the man that I know. Can so few attributes be enough to hold a man like you? "

I ploughed on in my beseeching, "if you act on a mere resurrected memory, you will lose what is real. You see Erik; I made a vow after Tony's last and final dalliance to never, I repeat, _never_ allow a man to betray me twice; I will not, cannot be your woman in the wings, your second chair. Do you understand me Erik?"

"Gabrielle, the reason for you to worry is minimal." Now standing before me, he reached his hand toward my face, brushing my jaw line with his fingers.

I bit my lip and closed my eyes against his touch. "I…I love you so much, Erik. You are my destiny, why else would you have discovered me in the bowels of the opera last year?"

"And I love you. It is you who breathes life into my dark soul."

My heart ached whenever he spoke of his tragic past. I wanted to go to him, to hold him and to make love to him, yet I resisted and pushed forward.

I straightened up to my full height and shook a finger in his direction.

"Do what you must, but remember what I've just told you; and if Christine turns you out, do not even think of me, for I will have moved on with my life. I will _not_ be anyone's second choice. Don't think that I am not strong enough to make it on my own in your century. I will do what I need to."

Erik focused on my face; in his eyes I saw understanding. He knew that I meant what I said; his Gabrielle was no frail little flower.

Erik nodded decisively. I met his eyes and he wrapped one arm about my waist and gently pressed my head to his shoulder with his other hand.

No words came to either one of us during our embrace; no words were necessary, only the reassuring solid warmth of our bodies mattered.

Eventually I disengaged my self from Erik's embrace to remove the cassolet from the oven. Donning an oven mitt, I slid the bubbling dish from the oven and placed it on a nearby wire rack to cool. Erik stood by, looking out of sorts.

"I believe I am a tad hungry, Gabrielle. Shall we eat together in the dining room dear?

I twisted my body to answer him. "Lunch, why, what a brilliant idea Erik. Go wash up while I finish up here."

I wondered what made him change his mind about food so suddenly.

The midday meal sure was interesting; the Roux's joined us at the table, and I must say, conversation was beyond stilted. Erik knew that the Roux's had prior knowledge of the Comte's death, and eventually our polite conversation rolled around to the subject.

"The Comte de Chagny's accidental death; you must have known Marie, would not your sister have clamored to tell you of the news?" Erik said with a smidge of sarcasm.

"Monsieur, please understand, that when Henri and I learned of the news, we were shocked and saddened and did not wish to speak of it." She countered apologetically.

"Lest the old fool DuPuis revert back to his phantom-like idiocy, should he discover the Comtess' widowhood?"

"No, no, Monsieur. It was out of respect for her memory. We rather thought that the Persian would have informed you," Henry spoke up in defense of his wife.

"It is a surprise that he didn't. It's a very tragic business it is."

"Tragedy is all one may count on in life, Monsieur." Erik's dark voice has put us in a somber mood for the remainder of the meal

My stomach was still tender from last night's bout of sickness. I hadn't eaten much and excused myself early, making an excuse that I needed to wash the dishes so I could work on my writing. Half way to the kitchen it happened again; that queasy watery, churning, feeling.

No, not again. Too far from the water closet, I dashed into the kitchen and relieved myself into an empty dishpan.

Madame Roux was at my side in an instant, holding my head and asking me if it had been something I'd eaten.

"I don't think I've gotten food poisoning, Marie. I've been doing this for three days in a row, I think it's a sort of gastrointestinal virus."

"My such a large word, dear," she said this as she wiped at my face with a wet dishcloth.

My head felt like it weighed fifty pounds when I lifted it from the dishpan to meet Marie's eyes.

"I mean, what else could it be?"

Her expression turned serious, "Gabrielle," she whispered, "Could you be with child?"

"Huh—me? Oh no, Erik and I, we take precautions"

The French woman shook her head and held out one palm like a stop sign.

"Gabrielle, no, I do not wish to hear the intimate details of your liaisons!"

"Forgive me Marie."

I tend to forget that in an odd past future kind of way, the Roux's are older than my great grandparents, the Berhows.

Silently I counted backwards to the last time Erik and I made love without protection. Two, maybe three nights ago was it? Well I'm no expert, but morning sickness takes a bit more than three days to rear its ugly head. Previous to that, we always used either protection or counted the days in my cycle making sure to hit it on the safe days.

_Whew, home safe,_ I thought.

"No Marie, I'm not in the family way, it's probably nerves. As you know my life's taken some sharp turns as of late. That's all it is."

"Yes dear, there, there, go rest, I'll clean up here. You need not bother about supper. Go rest, be peaceful, it will do you good."

"Okay," I said washing out the pan. "I surrender."

I climbed the narrow servants stairway to the second floor. I didn't feel much like stopping in the dining room and answering questions as to why I suddenly felt the need to yarf my lunch.

The flu or whatever nineteenth century plague I had contacted kept up a vigilant dance in my stomach the next day.

The considerate inhabitants of DuPuis Manor allowed me to rest and rise at my leisure and I was thankful.

After three trips to the water closet there was nothing left for me to expel and I threw on my dressing gown and slippers for a trip downstairs for tea and toast.

The manor house was still. I checked the hall clock, nine am; Erik must be asleep, but where are the Roux's? Saturday, oh, right. Today is the day they'd planned a trip to the next province to visit their church friends, the West's. They would return Monday. Normally I enjoyed having the house to myself—It meant that I could be me, wear what I wanted, talk as I wished, and openly demonstrate my affections for Erik. At the moment, I craved companionship to take my mind off of the situation at hand.

Like loose mortar, the truth tumbled down upon me. What horrible timing; Erik leaves for Pairs tomorrow morning. I'd have three days alone to stew about Christine's machinations upon my fiancé.

My stomach lurched again. Look here you, I said squeezing my arms about my midsection and bending forward there is no reason for this; you have nothing inside of you…stop it! I ordered my churning belly.

"Talking to your imaginary friend are you my sweet?"

- 0 -

_**Well what do you think? The next chapter will address Gabrielle's next move (Erik's too, of course). Confusion, delusions of human emotion, misunderstanding and, god help them, missteps made in the name of love will litter the fictional landscape of the next few chapters. Hang in there and please continue to review.**_

_**-Leesa**_

_PS-Thank you for your reviews, especially those of you who are new, if anyone wants some comic relief, go to my reviews and read some of them (which will it be Erik, a living or a dead bride?) LOL_


	60. Ch 60 Denial

**_Okay, I'll get this up today! I hope it's not rife with mistakes; my poor beta Amy can't keep up with me these days (my mistake, not hers). Wow, thanks for your awesome reviews, again many of you are making me laugh. Hey lurkers, double thank._**

**_- Leesainthesky_**

Ch 60 Denial 

I've heard it said that those who talk to themselves are in no real danger of insanity unless they also answer. I was prone to doing both, but in this instance, I hadn't been afforded the time to answer the cease and desist order I'd given to my lurching stomach.

"Waa?" I snapped upright at the sudden sound of a human voice followed by the whistle of the boiling teakettle.

"Oh my so sorry dear it was not my intention to startle you." Erik apologized.

"It's my stomach; I'm still nauseous for some strange reason. Talking to it as if it was a separate entity might be helpful," I reasoned matter-of-factly.

Erik frowned, pursed his lips and raised his hand to my cheek. "Have you a fever?"

"No, no chills either." I waved off the parental gesture. "I don't get it; I suppose it's a reaction to stress. It'll get better soon," I said for my benefit as much as for his.

"Let me fix you tea and dry toast; you sit and rest." Erik pulled out a chair for me, waiting like the gentleman he was, so he could push it back in for me.

Erik paused behind me. His hand touched the back of my head and he began to stroke my hair casually.

"Do not make yourself ill with worry, Gabrielle, it is pointless darling."

"Easy for you to say, the ball seems to be in your court."

"An unusual capitulation from Madame twenty-first century, is it not?" He made an attempt to humor me.

"I've always been lousy at tennis."

I watched Erik fix my tea, adding just the right amount of milk into it. He placed the china cup before me with a jar of honey. "The honey will help settle you stomach. Sweeten your tea with it and spoon a bit onto your toast."

Erik; the worry in his jade eyes softened my apprehension and I granted him a weak smile. I fought the urge to suggest other ways to enjoy the sticky golden nectar.

I thrust my spoon into the thick honey and watched it create a slow wave around the utensil. I allowed a thin stream to drizzle back into the jar. I stirred the honey into my tea then lifted the spoon from the cup. A sheen of the nectar still clung to the silver utensil so I lifted it to my tongue and licked it, savoring the taste of the condiment.

Erik missed none of this, when I flicked my gaze to his face, he appeared momentarily mesmerized; in his eyes I read lascivious intent.

_What in the blazes is wrong with you_? I questioned my intentions.

_You swore off sex with this man until he stopped his waffling and made a definitive choice about your relationship and now you're baiting him._

"Psst," said the little devil on my shoulder, "but you _like_ boinking Erik, you really, really like it don't you Gabrielle?"

"But you treasure your self-respect more don't you, countered tiny angel on my other shoulder? What sort of a wimpy-Wilma would you be if you surrendered to Erik's self-serving lusts?"

"Wimpy-Wilma my little red tushie," argued Devil girl. "What if this is your last chance to get that fine piece of man flesh between your thighs, huh, I mean, look at him will ya? Tall, dark and well hung, and he knows how to work it, girl."

Yes, I had to agree with my lusty alter ego; he certainly knew how to work it.

"Hey," my libido piped up, "now _there's_ a workable angle; if we have sex with Erik before he takes off for the city, it wouldn't necessarily be for his pleasure, but for ours. Nothing says forget-me-not like a rousing round of good-bye sex. Such measures won't necessarily keep a man, but it can't hurt if he dumps us and the new woman doesn't measure up to you in bed. C'mon, Gabrielle. How about one for the road?"

_What the hell was this, self-mutiny_?

The silver spoon was still in my mouth.

At some point during my internal sparing between the good Gabrielle and the naughty Gabrielle, I'd stuck it back into the honey pot and up to my mouth for another display of my oral dexterity.

With a teacup and saucer resting in one large hand, and the other bracing against the edge of the stove, Erik's eyes lingered on my mouth as I licked honey from the spoon.

"You could channel your energies onto a more appreciative instrument, dear."

My eyes focused on Erik's, "Um?" I mumbled, with the spoon still in my mouth,

"The spoon Gabrielle, please, the sight of your tongue laving over it is disconcerting. Are you trying to seduce me? If so, I'm at a loss to your intentions, you've requested a suspension of our lovemaking; yet I find you taunting my libido mercilessly. Why the mixed messages, I do not understand."

Oh my, seduction had not been my conscious intent, but I could tell by his wrinkled brow and pleading tone that Erik was indeed serious.

"Erik, sweetheart," I laughed shortly, "Really, I'm not trying to seduce you right now, I just spaced out while I licked the honey from the spoon. I love the stuff and it seems to help settle my stomach. I'm not a Delilah."

The scent of sandalwood and ylang ylang touched my nose. Erik was running a hand through his hair, ruffling the neat coiffure and sending a mixture of pomade and his personal musk through the room. It was a provocative scent with the power to remind me of how heavenly it felt to lay with his warm nakedness.

"Gabrielle, I know that I am—confused. Though I respect your decision to refrain from physical intimacy, it would seem as if you mean to arouse me by becoming more enticing every day."

"Well, I'm not Erik. Could you simply be seeing me in a different light therefore distorting your perception?"

"I see. I beg your pardon for my gross misconception."

"Erik, I know you enjoy our lovemaking; I enjoy it too, immensely in fact. I would never, ever use my charms to get back at you, I hope you know that. Crazy as this may sound, I respect your need to put this thing with Christine behind you," I said while repeatedly flipping the spoon up and catching it. I missed on the fourth flip and it deflected off the tabletop and clattered against the marble floor.

"Boogers," I pushed away from the table to retrieve the spoon, still seated, I bent from over and stretched out my right arm. My fingers hardly touched the handle, but I managed to draw the utensil toward me. Erik stepped into view and knelt in front of me.

"Here, let me help you," he said.

"I've got it," I replied. As I rose, my head collided with something hard.

"_Holy crap merde!'_ two voices cried out in pain and surprise.

The spoon skittered across the marble floor.

"Are you alright?" Erik rubbed his head with his right hand and extended his left for me to grasp.

"Good grief you have a hard head Erik." Stars danced before me and my head throbbed. Erik helped me to my feet and I grasped his wrists. Wobbling slightly, we clung to each other.

Rotating my neck back and forth a few times seemed to help alleviate the dizziness caused by our head on collision.

I peered up at Erik. He'd stopped rubbing his head, and appeared to be fine.

"You so know how to knock a girl off her feet don't you?"

The remark elicited a smile from him.

"You're alright then are you dear?" He asked softly.

"Oh, I suppose—more startled really."

An awkward silence ensued while we observed one another. Out of the sheer ridiculousness of the moment, I began to giggle and Erik broke into a hearty laugh.

"I'd say that is absolute proof that it is you who possess the propensity toward being a hard headed woman, darling."

Gasping with mock indignation, I stuck my hands on my hips. The cheeky protest perched on the end of my tongue was cut short.

Erik moved with the swiftness of a hawk on its prey, before I could blink twice, his lips were on mine and he enfolded me in an unyielding embrace.

Resistance was futile. Disappointed though I was in his need to call on his former student, I still desired his touch. I responded with enthusiasm, relaxing in his arms and matching him sigh for sigh, kiss for kiss.

He backed me into the table, slid his hand beneath my bottom and hoisted me up onto the tabletop, all the while probing the depths of my mouth with his insistent tongue.

So unexpected was this assault, that my ability to protest with reason was by-passed by more primal needs.

Erik slipped the straps of my flimsy nightgown over my shoulders and watched the silky garment fall away to my waist. Not one to wear layers of sleepwear, I was naked beneath the lightweight gray silk gown.

Erik gawked at my naked breasts. He did not ask permission when he dusted the tips of my nipples with his fingers. After fondling every inch of my breasts with skilled fingers, he switched to using his mouth.

His ability to suckle and lick me so gently and so perfectly had, on many occasions, nearly made me come.

That's one male ability I'd never heard my twenty-first century girlfriends brag about their lovers.

Surrounded by the scent of Erik's masculine musk, the bliss of his touch, and the comfort of his body's warmth, I fell deeply under the maestro's spell.

I moaned shamelessly when he pressed the palm of his hand on my mons and began rhythmically massaging the sensitive area.

"Ah, you like this don't you Gabrielle; shall I continue?"

My answer was a whimper.

A warm flood surged from within, spreading downward and spilling forth to dampen the outer flesh of my sex.

Frantically I pushed the gown down to where Erik's hand pleasured me. Like a gentleman, Erik assisted in the removal of my garment. He pushed away from me far enough to gaze at my nakedness. He smiled with satisfaction and his eyes sparkled with lustful mischief.

"You are a most glorious woman, Gabrielle."

At the same time he was admiring me, he was unhooking his trousers.

"The shirt too, I want to touch your chest," I said.

Erik obliged by unbuttoning the cuffs and neck of his lawn shirt and baring his sinewy chest to my ravenous eyes.

Oh, those mesmerizing Jade eyes, dark hair, lovely lips and long, lean body; even Erik's imperfection aroused me. The man was fine.

Damn it I hated him.

"Gabrielle, I burn for your touch. If I cannot have you, I feel I shall go mad." Erik's sex stood mere inches from its desired goal, fully engorged and purplish from the significant rush of blood to his organ.

He grasped my hips, eagerly pulling me to him and began wriggling his hips against my wet opening, desperate for entrance.

He felt magnificent.

My inner editor screamed at me; _Stop this Gabrielle or Erik will always believe he is to have his way. He must learn that playing with a woman's affections and then expecting her to respond favorable to him is bad business._

"Erik," I moaned weakly. "I-I can't. I love you dearly, but I cannot do something like this less than twenty four hours before you run off to call on your former love, I just can't," I said trying to be sympathetic yet firm.

I sat up, flattened my hands against the tabletop and pushed away from his erection.

Erik's eyes widened and he clenched his jaw; hurt, confusion, and an enormous dose of frustration skittered across his face converging into a mass of emotion that looked a lot like anger.

He grabbed at my hips in an attempt to re-engage his body with mine.

"I said _no_."

"You cannot tell me no!" he growled.

"Erik, do you plan to rape me? No means no!" I crossed my legs and pushed against his chest hard and finally he released me. The anger in his face shrank along with the offending organ.

"I would never force you; surely you realize that much, Gabrielle." Erik sounded wounded.

"I sincerely hope not." I snatched my nightgown from the back of the chair where Erik had tossed it and slipped it back over my head.

"I—I thought you wanted me to…"

"I know, and I do…did. Oh Erik damn you, I've never stopped loving your or wanting you. But it pains me to give my body to a man who has another woman on his mind even if it's a little bit. I'm sorry if I'm confusing you. Hell _I'm_ confused…cripes; I don't know how to act or what to do."

Erik walked over to the large butcher block, which I used as a cutting board and slammed his fists into the solid wood many times while cursing under his breath.

When he tired of the self-abuse, he looked up studying the ceiling, and then shook his head before turning back to me.

"I have hurt you in the most dreadful of ways haven't I? What a monster I am—a fabulously terrible excuse for a human being."

He griped the edge of the butcher block until his knuckles turned white. Swaying under the weight of his convictions, Erik steadied himself and laughed tersely,

"God hands me pure gold, yet I place it on a shelf for safe keeping while I go to look at silver for a while. My selfishness is unforgivable Gabrielle. If you desire to rid me from your life, I will not hold you accountable should you decide to leave." Erik hung his head in sorrow.

By this time, I'd hopped from the table and stood inside the kitchen door. Erik looked so pitiful; so confused by his conflicting emotions. Had I not understood what that sort of pain felt like, I would have verbally boiled him in oil; instead, I remained pragmatic in the face of his personal angst.

Tilting my head, I spoke to him in calm even tones, "Hey Erik, I realize that you must do what you must do, but just do it quickly so we can move on, okay?"

Our eyes met long enough for him to comprehend the significance of what I'd said. I walked away leaving Erik alone to ponder the consequences of his impending actions.

Later that evening I would eat my own words.

- 0 -

_**E-gads, lust filled angst, the best kind! Please review. Your reader input is important.**_

_**-Leesa**_


	61. Ch 61 Choices

_**Ch 61 Choices**_

How does one turn off one's body? The mind can keep busy with a variety of diversions, and even if it does sneak back to its original pre-occupation, can detour around that most undesirable of thoughts.

But not the libido.

Once the chemicals in one's brain decide that the body needs a bit of the good stuff, it will not rest until the genitals receive what they crave the most; relief from direct contact with that particular person of ones desire. The aroused adult body simple will not rest until its' lusts are quenched, even if that person should happen to be hundreds of miles away.

So I holed up in my room and paced, and then I wrote, then paced some more, then wrote some more. I stared out of the window and my eyes were drawn to the area near the stables. Erik was busy splitting wood. His back was to me and I could see his muscles straining beneath a sweat soaked shirt. Finding no relief from my desires, I turned once again to my writing. The article for Harpers Bizarre was to be about the unfortunate shift from the Socratic belief that women were as intelligent and able as men were if, only they had afforded the same educational opportunities, to Aristotle's misogynistic ideas about the intellectual caste system. Does owning a phallus truly make men the superior sex? I posed the question to the reader Now, all I had to do was write what I knew in a manner both palpable to the nineteenth century scientific findings and the forward thinking Victorian mind. 

And I had to stop thinking about Erik's hands.

Those smooth palms and lithe fingers with the dexterity of a snake, a beautiful exotic snake slithering over my cheeks, jaw and neckline down to my breasts, teasing the sensitive flesh of my belly before dipping below to what Erik named Gabrielle's secret garden of delights.

I'd not noticed when the sun slunk away from the sky until I realized I could no longer read my manuscript.

_My, let's light the lamp lest you need glasses before your time dear, I doubt that there is an eyeglass world with fashionable designer frames or contacts anywhere near here. _

I lit the little kerosene lamp on my writing desk and turned up the wick high enough to illuminate the immediate area by the desk and bed.

After reading the article for the fifth time, I decided it was the best I could do and prepared it for delivery to Harpers.

I sat back in the cane back chair and ran my hands through my loose hair. My stomach grumbled in protest of being empty.

_Look, last time I fed you, you sent it back, remember_? I scolded my stomach. Instead of going to the kitchen, I chose to get up and wash my face.

Before Marie and Henri left for their holiday, she filled my picture with fresh water and provided clean linens. I filled the bowl and dipped part of a face cloth in the water. I dragged it over my face and body, finished up with the witch hazel that I now used as a cleanser and astringent, and applied a dab of moisturizer to my face.

Might as well hit the hay, I'm unusually tired, I told myself. On my way to the armoire, I stripped off my day dress and re-hung it, but kept on my chemise. I often preferred sleeping in the soft cotton shifts to the scratchy winter nightdresses. Even though it was September, the nights hadn't been especially cold, not requiring me to sleep in heavier clothing.

Before I had the chance to climb beneath the covers, there came three quick raps on the door connecting my dressing room to Erik's bedchamber.

"Gabrielle, you've been in there all evening, would you care for a bit of food dear? I've a plate of pate and biscuits to share it with you."

I padded over toward the sound of Erik's voice, intending to decline his kind offer without having to opening the door. Before I made it over to him, the monster in my belly growled again.

"Sure Erik," I sighed. If I let him in here, I might rape him. I wanted him in the worst way and when the horny monkey sings, all sensibility and pride, fly out the window.

_C'mon Gab, you're an adult, remember the bitch club back in Chicago_? That was the acronym my girlfriends and I used for **B**abe **I**n **T**otal **C**ontrol of **H**erself.

The brass latch on my dressing room door clicked quietly and when I turned on it. I opened the door and there stood Erik holding a smile on his lips and a silver tray of pate in his hands. He wore nothing but a smile and a black and red silk robe.

"Entré Monsieur," I smiled.

"Merci, Mademoiselle. Where shall I place this?" he said referring to the silver tray and bottle of Chablis.

"On the table between the settee and the chaise, you can move that vase of roses; they're nearly done for anyway."

"I'd say so; you'll have to replace them tomorrow. The Queen Mary's will continue to bloom until the first hard frost."

"That's nice, I enjoy their large blooms and pungent fragrance," I said making small talk.

Erik moved the crystal vase from the sofa table to the desk. I noted that he was most careful not to put it on my writing that was scattered about the desktop.

"Burning the midnight oil I see?"

"Harper's needs the piece for next month's issue. The deadline is next week."

"Why did you not ask me to proof read it for you?"

"I figured you were caught up in your work, plus preparing for your short trip to Paris and all. I didn't wish to bug you."

"Gabrielle, dear, you never _bug_ me when you ask for my opinion. I am a good editor and I like helping you with your work."

"Next time then?"

"Please, seek me out or I shall be deeply wounded," he teased holding a hand over his heart.

We sat down to eat the light repast, Erik on the settee and me on the chaise. Conversation skirted the issue of his trip to the city and of Christine and our wedding; we'd said pretty much all there was to say on both sides of that coin. Instead, Erik and I chatted about his partner's ideas to market their architectural firm in other countries, the unusually warm fall weather and of how Europe's avant garde liked my writing.

Thankfully, my stomach remained happy with what I'd giver it and showed no signs of regurgitating it.

With the wine drunk and most of the pate eaten, we stumbled over conversation before I noted that my bedside clock read half past midnight. Rather than sit on my hands or bring up an unpleasant subject, I feigned a large yawn, stood and bid him good night.

"Thank you for the food, I'd forgotten to eat, you know how it gets when you're wrapped up in your craft."

Erik nodded in agreement, "Indeed I do; it's no secret to you that I can go for weeks on end without so much as a crust of bread if you did not insist I take in some sustenance." He smiled affectionately.

"Remember, bite, chew, swallow and do it again." I laughed at the method I'd devised to feed Erik when he could not be torn away from his music.

I walked with him to the dressing room door, "Good night Erik," I stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

"Good night my darling," he said returning my kiss.

Then, just inside of the door, Erik hesitated.

"Gabrielle, I recognize my impotence in managing the complications of love; seeing Christine again—as you know, I've been quite unprepared for the ensuing tangle of emotions. Uncountable times during this past week, I've ruminated over my actions. I treated you with the utmost insensitivity haven't I?"

"Yes, you have. You can appear callous when dealing with a situation that is alien to you, but ignorance aside, you are not a stupid man Erik; you know all too well what rejection feels like."

Erik rested his hand on the crystal door knob; his eyes took on the anguish of a man accused of a most grievous crime.

"I continue to profess my love for you, yet, how can you believe? Tell me Gabrielle; is it a betrayal for me to harbor affections for another?"

"Not necessarily. I've told you before; I comprehend your conflict. If you are going to Paris to put to rest that which haunts you, I shall wait; but if you're thinking maybe you'll want to marry her instead of me, you can kiss my sweet bootie good-bye—I will not wait!"

"And you should not. You have given me much to consider."

For many moments, all I heard was the tick from my bedside clock counting off the seconds.

Erik cleared his throat and glanced off to the side before turning back to me.

"Please, dear, understand how imperative it is that I see to my business in the city, part of which is putting to rest my friendship with the Comtess de Chagny."

I clasped my hands together in front of me and bit my cheek in an attempt to suppress wide-eyed surprise at this shift in Erik's intent.

"You are an exceptional woman and your anger toward me is palpable. Forgive me, Gabrielle."

With those words, the tall elegant man before me bowed his head and backed out of my room, closing the dressing room door with a faint click.

_What was that_; an apology, an admission, a discretionary judgment or declaration? Once again, I was alone with my thoughts and my need.

I plopped down on the bed and finished the glass of wine in my hand. The tart beverage worked to relax my tension and my defenses.

Hearing Erik denounce Christine certainly does swing things back my way. So, is it now okay for me to slake my lusts upon him? What if, when he goes to tell Christine avoire tomorrow, she bewitches him with her charms and he changes his mind?

Suppose this is the last night I will ever have with Erik. Does my going to his bed make me weakling? What if I deny my desires; will such actions deem me a righteous woman?

Suddenly my alter ego, the good Gabrielle was back and whispering in my ear, "sure thing missy, go to Erik and he'll think that you're demon possessed, first you reject him with your high and mighty resolve, and then you slink into his bedchamber for some late night dessert."

_Sheesh. _

"Horse-hockey," bad devil-girl Gabrielle quipped in my other ear; "Erik's just a man, he won't care if you turn colors as long as you give him a ride on the Gabby-go-round. Give the man something to remember you by. Sex with him is better than chocolate, now up off of your sorry ass and collect your parting gift."

Oh Hells bells, carpe diem. I decided to toss pride and caution to the wind and indulge in the ecstasy that is his touch, his body, his love.

Hastily I placed the wine goblet on the side table with a chink, and jumped from the bed.

_Whether or not Erik remains mine for all time, I cannot say, but for tonight, he will be mine_, I declared facing the mirror. I applied a dab of perfume and headed to his bedchambers.

0 –

_Love is strange and so is Erik, not insincere, just, well, Erik…Please review._

_XXOO Leesa_


	62. CH 62 Désir

_**Thanks for the honest reviews; those are ones I like the best. I received all sorts of comments, from poor little Erik monkey, cock-blocked again, please douse me with chocolate to calling Gab a Mary Sue—I think we all have a bit of the MS in us at certain times, it's called weakness of the heart (or groin). Thank you all for the great input.**_

**_Be warned, this chapter rates a serious _M**

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**Ch 62 Désir**

Sneaking into the bedroom of a man notorious for his catlike senses was not an easy feat, but I tried anyway. My naked feet tread softly across the Persian rug, feeling their way along the familiar path to Erik's bedside.

I held my hands out so as not to collide with any recently rearranged furniture, after all, it had been over a week since I'd breached the threshold of Erik's bedchambers, he might have redecorated.

Eventually my fingers came in contact with the cool, smooth finish of the master's ornate mahogany bed.

I lifted up the covers and attempted to slip beneath them as gingerly as possible. The bed linens were heavy with Erik's intoxicating scent.

Erik did not stir. _Phew, home free. I'll lay on my back until my heart stops thumping_.

"Your pheromones gave you away. Tell me, what brings the honorable Mademoiselle Thomassen to my bed?"

I started at the sound of Erik's honeyed voice, then groped in the dark for his face. Upon finding it, I caressed both sides with my palms.

"Understand that I am a woman of principle Erik; I do not appreciate being taken for granted, but I didn't come here to debate such things."

"Then why are you here, Gabrielle?" his voice was pure seduction.

_Because I am weak when it comes to you, idiot._

"Because I am a woman; because of love and need. If this were my very last night on earth, I would die to spend it in your embrace." I fingered the patch of dark hair on his chest and ran my hand over the taut muscles. When my fingers played upon one of Erik's nipples, he sucked in a sharp breath.

Erik remained motionless, enjoying the play of my fingers on his body. Allowing me to take the lead meant that he could not be blamed for any impropriety.

I draped my body over Erik's, raising just enough to brush my breasts across his chest. His sighs of pleasure continued--he liked this sort of foreplay quite bit.

Even though I lacked Erik's keen night vision, locating his lips proved no trial. I hovered less than an inch from his mouth, letting my warm breath dance upon his lips. Eagerly, he obliged me in a kiss—a deep, soul-searing kiss that lasted for uncountable minutes.

Masculine hands applied light pressure to my back, urging my body to fully rest on top of his. Erik covered me from shoulder to buttocks with long flowing strokes. I began to relax.

"Ooh, that feels wonderful."

"Your muscles Gabrielle, they are as hard agate; it would be no bother for me to alleviate you of your tension if you like darling."

Erik may have been a recluse, and outcast, an oddity of nature, but he'd long ago learned to use his unusual brilliance to his advantage. Those long fingers, instruments of Erik's genius, were capable of creating innumerable works of art, and when introduced to the joys of the flesh, became capable of touching me in ways other men never imagined, probing the depths of my desires with graceful alacrity and intuition. To Erik, woman and music were beauty personified.

And now, the strength of his erection was evident beneath me and my hips responded by rolling against his.

Was I crazy for giving into my lusts? Maybe, but I did not care. My only focus was on satiating my desire.

Erik's short lived celibacy was ending, and in spite of the question of the Comtess.

I stretched across Erik's body toward one of the gas sconces flanking his bed and turned up the flame to a cozy and comfortable incandescence.

Erik watched me with a curious grin.

I propped an elbow one each side of his torso, rested my chin in my hands and offered him a mysterious expression.

"Let it be known that coming to your bed is in no way a feminine submission. I am a shameless and selfish hussy who craves your attentions in the worst way. If I never see you again, I will have one final night of mind blowing sex to remember forever."

"Good heavens woman, stop this fatalistic pontificating would you? I am merely going to meet the girl and speak with her; I'll spend the remainder of my trip pouring over boring blueprints and schematics. I may even pay a visit to Madame Giry while I am in the city."

I arched an eyebrow at him, "She doesn't deserve you anyway, you know. Didn't the little thing shriek and run from you when she saw your face, and then tell her fiancé, the Vicomte, that she could never forget the horror of seeing your deformed, distorted face—hardly a face. Isn't that what you told me about that terrible night on the Opera's roof?"

Erik worked his jaw back and forth and stared into the gloom. Perhaps it was unfair of me to encourage him to relive his past. I felt it necessary.

"Can she have changed all that much? My mother used to tell me that a leopard never changes its' spots, and she should know; mummy dearest was the queen of predatory she-beasts. Erik, a woman's toleration of you is not the same as being welcomed or accepted. I will always welcome you Erik, _all _of you."

As I spoke, I traced my fingers across the flesh of his forehead, over his deformed cheek and down to his lips. Looking him squarely in the eyes, I kissed him with all of the love and passion of a dying woman, then drew back to meet his eyes.

Erik swiped at a wild strand of hair that dangled in my face, tucked it behind my ear, and smiled up at me. "My darling, sometimes I think you are an apparition created by my mind's eye. Make no mistake, Gabrielle, I love you madly. Without you, I am a nothing but a cerebellum and a pathetic bag of bones."

"Sweetheart, because of my love for you, there is little I would not do for you, within reason of course—I mean no three ways, animal, midget, or wrong way sex and all..."

"Gracious! I would never subject you to such vulgar abnormalities. As much as I resemble a beast, I am not prone to behave as one, really!"

I giggled at his serious indignation.

"I know, it's alright, Erik. All I'm saying is, there is little, very little, I would not attempt with you, for you; all you need do is ask."

"Oh?" he smiled rakishly. "I daresay there is something I've imagined indulging in for quite some time. When we couple, you insist I remove my mask, reveling my true face in all its monstrous glory. Still, you touch me and you smile at me and I see the adoration in your eyes, yet a part of me wonders about the veracity of your response."

I frowned, "What exactly do you mean Erik?"

"Gabrielle, I would very much like to watch you watching as we mate. To see my distorted visage and your pretty face and naked body in the throes of ecstasy when I take you; to see that it is the beast in my mirror giving you pleasure would exhilarate me greatly."

His eyes had taken on the dark glossy aura of passion. Erik' suggestion was so primal that I experienced a sudden rush of heat.

I searched his face, and he smiled; it was the smile of a man filled with savage need—a need not merely born of lust.

I ran my hand over his soft brown hair and returned the seductive smile; I too had a need which ached for fulfillment.

"Someone's feeling kinky, isn't he?" I dropped to my right side and drew my fingers spider-like down his chest to his belly and over the top of his swollen tip and down the length of his shaft, all the while singing the Itsy Bitsy Spider nursery rhyme.

Erik's phallus twitched beneath my touch; he groaned and grabbed hold of my hand. "I suppose it is a blessing that my mother never sang nursery rhymes and lullaby's to me isn't it?"

"It is if the Itsy Bitsy Spider was a part of her repertoire," I quipped.

"Ladies first," he swept his fingertips down my thighs, teasing me in a most delicious way. My legs parted of their own accord, but Erik chose to ignore the obvious invitation.

He made me wait.

I whined in frustration.

"What vexes you so my dove?"

"I—I'm, oh you know!"

"Tell me."

"Erik…"

"You've become quite creamy; might your frustration have anything to do with that?"

"Erik, cease your teasing and use those masterful hands of yours to my advantage."

All I received was an audible sneer. I pushed my sex against his hand the way a kitten rubs its head against a person's leg.

Erik employed a single finger to trace the perimeter of my most sensitive organ. His leisurely pace made me pulse with heat. Frustrated, I twisted my feet into the sheets.

"Your silken folds are remarkably swollen Gabrielle, shall I soothe them with kisses?"

"Please…"

"Like this—and this?" Erik leaned into me, his lips bestowed feathery kisses on my most tender part. I bristled with pleasure.

"You're…exquisite," I breathed.

"You _taste_ exquisite," he answered, lapping at my center.

In and out darted Erik's tongue, his flawless technique thrilled me in unimaginable ways, yet he chose to avoid the erect pink bud begging for attention.

The fingers of his left hand replaced his tongue, which now flickered over the sensitive bud. He busied his fingers, dipping in and sliding out of my wet entrance.

"Your ability to incite sexual delectation should be illegal, Erik." I squirmed against his attentions, craving the feeling of his cock—in my hand, my mouth, inside of me; I needed to feel Erik, to possess.

And there it was, happily swollen and erect within reach of my hand. Greedily, I enclosed my fingers around his thickness, stroking in the exact manner he enjoyed.

He paused, focused his gaze on my face and smiled, "Oh-ho my dear, what have you found?"

"An immensely talented French phallus. And it's mine…finder's keepers and all that."

"Whatever would you do with such a thing darling?"

"Put it in a warm place for safe keeping, naturally," I teased.

"For later use then?"

"Most certainly not!" I squeezed him tighter, "Erik I need you—now. I need to connect with you, physically and spiritually. Oh god, don't make me wait; don't make me beg. My pride has suffered enough."

"Your pride suffers from coming to me? How odd Gabrielle." Erik sat upright and thrust his fingers into me as if to make a point.

I gasped sharply then gained my composure. "I didn't mean it as a slam."

"Then show me Gabrielle, show Erik how very badly you desire him. On your knees, if you please my love."

I questioned him with my eyes, then rose and got on my knees facing him.

"The other direction, Gabrielle, _facing_ the armoire."

Across from the end of Erik's bed stood a massive mahogany armoire with a full-length mirror on the inside of the door. Normally Erik took great pains to keep the doors closed but tonight they were fully open.

"Certainly, Monsieur."

Never one to back away from love-play, I tossed the bedclothes aside and knelt at the end of the bed while Erik positioned his body behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders.

"Gabrielle, look in the mirror, witness our nakedness in its reflection." He smiled a deviant grin, and cupped my breasts.

"What is it that you see darling?"

"The man I love touching me."

"Now my little dove, on all fours, if you please."

"Feeling a bit animal tonight are we?"

"I enjoy watching," he shrugged.

Why this new game appealed to him at this particular moment I could not say, but I had no aversion to appeasing him. Dropping down onto my hands and knees near the end of the bed, I brought my head up to meet our image in the mirror.

Erik swept his fingers down my face to my torso and over my back, tracing invisible lines across my bottom and legs. It seemed as though he was imprinting every detail of my body to memory.

I arched my back and sighed with pleasure.

When Erik reached beneath me, his knuckles brushed against the distended flesh at the forefront of my sex. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed lightly.

The intensity of his touch was unbearable. I closed my eyes.

"Keep your eyes open, Gabrielle. I want the both of us to witness the power that I have over you!"

_Well, well, someone's made strides in the sexual confidence department now hasn't he_? I smiled to myself.

Erik devoured the image in the mirror, his eyes locked onto mine while his fingers continued their delicious dance. He parted my lips and slid his cock along my wetness, all the while watching.

I reached back to fondle him, noting that his balls were heavy from the abstinence I'd imposed on him.

Erik groaned huskily and gritted his teeth, but kept his eyes on our image in the mirror.

I drew in a hard breath when his engorged tip breached my entrance. Erik thrust into me with a grunt, and then pulled out with excruciating slowness before thrusting into me again. He knew how much I loved the way he rubbed against my inner walls. I stretched out like a cat and he indulged me in the delicious maneuver several more times before picking up the pace. In the mirror I could see my breasts bouncing and swaying with the rhythm of our lovemaking.

Being able to see Erik's sex beneath me, coupled with his rapturous expression, served as a potent aphrodisiac.

He withdrew his hand from me and I took over, rubbing myself in his place. Erik thoroughly enjoyed the show before him; his face became flushed and his thrusts more frantic.

"Harder! Erik, please it's alright, you're not hurting me, I swear it," I moaned.

Caught up in our passion, he slammed into me from behind. He reveled in seeing ecstasy on my face; I opened my mouth and panted small sounds of pleasure.

Having Erik slid in and out of me with such fervor and watching our sweaty bodies flail about with the motion of our passion was thrilling.

"Yes Gabrielle, that's it my sweet, surrender to me, _feel_ what I am doing to you, _see_ what I am doing to you. Come for me. Can you still do so when you see the two of us together, the beast and the beauty?" he growled harshly.

"Y-yes, the man in the mirror is the man that I love, the man who was to become my husband," I choked out.

The intensity of my orgasm was not solely responsible for the trail of tears on my face. I'd heard other women liken sexual release to the movement of an ocean tide, washing over them in multiple waves of bliss. I figured it was just so much romantic bunk, until now.

My inner walls rippled again and again and I screamed out Erik's name out.

"Merdé, Gabrielle, you are killing me," he whispered loudly through clenched teeth, and responded by pounding into me with gusto, again and again and again.

His climax was so powerful, I actually felt his sex pulsating within, followed by the warm flood of his life's liquid filling me completely.

Unable to obey his own command, he closed his eyes against the rapture of his release, tossing his head back and yelling as if he were dying.

Maybe he was; maybe a part Erik's self-loathing had taken it's leave.

Satiated, Erik bent over my back and nuzzled my neck. "Mon amour, I _am_ the man who will be your husband. In many, many ways, I already am."

_Then why in the hell are you still going see Christine tomorrow_? I wanted to ask him, but at the moment, I'd no desire to beat a dead horse.

I collapsed, tired emotionally and physically, letting my arms hang limp over the end of the bed and waited for my pulse to slow.

Erik wrapped his arms about my hips and laid his head on me. I felt the dampness from his hair in the small of my back. The air in the bedroom seemed cooler and it breathed a chill over our naked bodies.

"Let's get under the covers Erik, I'm cold."

"An excellent idea; it would appear I've let the fire burn low. Warm yourself beneath the covers while I stoke the fire my love.

He kissed my bottom playfully and sprung from the bed to the fireplace where he poked at the embers and added two more logs. We'd made a mess of the bedclothes and I worked quickly to untangle the sheets and fluff out the down coverlet. Completing my task, I curled up beneath the orderly mountain of warm Egyptian cotton.

Erik walked toward the bed. Soft flames flickered and danced across his face and torso.

I was struck by Erik's stature, the taught lean muscles, and of how he walked with proud elegance no matter the circumstances.

At the moment his disheveled hair, sleepy, satisfied smile, and mismatched eyes made him appear more like a teen-aged boy than a feared phantom of the night.

Offering me an ardent smile, Erik joined me beneath the covers. He turned briefly to lower the bedside sconce and fluff up his pillow before he settled in against me. He then pulled the covers over us and drew my body to his.

For some time we lay in silence, breathing in the glorious scent of our lovemaking, which hung in the air and on the sheets. I stroked his hair and kissed the bald spot on the right side of his head.

Erik's rich voice breached the dark silence, "The French like to call sexual release _la petite mort_."

"Yes, the little death," I said in English.

"Were it true, I would gladly die innumerable deaths with you, Gabrielle."

My heart filled with the hope that Erik was not a duplicitous man.

"I don't want to fall asleep thinking about the fact that you're leaving tomorrow. Will you hum a song for me Erik?" I whispered.

"Anything for you, my dove," he chuckled softly and began soothing me with an unknown melody.

I felt no guilt or self-loathing for what we had done.

Would I feel the same way in the morning?

**- 0 -**

_**Well now…**_

_**What do you think about our heroine's choices? What about the writing itself? Please review for me, I honestly appreciate all of your input. **_

_**PS, I would like to pick more beta's. Amy is great, but I think it's good to have additional points of view and pairs of eyes to proof my story. If you are interested, please let me know. I'm easy to deal with.**_

_**-Leesa**_


	63. Ch 63 Duplicity

_Forgive the delay,I have a laptop in sore need of murdering. This chapter may throw you for a loop, but hang in there. Thanks X 100K for your readership, reviews and support._

_-Leesainthesky_

**Ch 62 Duplicity**

I wouldn't be able to walk well for a week.

Spooned against Erik, I did not want the morning to end. For Erik to wake and leave our bed meant he was that much closer to Paris and Christine.

I burrowed further under the covers, relishing his warmth.

Off course, what I'd wished against happened; Erik stirred. He repositioned his body, nestled into me and kissed the lobe of my right ear.

I felt the strength of his desire against my bottom. Ah yes, morning wood._ I chuckled softly at the thought._

Erik knew my levity was directed at his current condition and deemed the slight acknowledgement as an invitation.

"Do you still doubt the sincerity of my love after last night?" He wagged the tip of his tongue over the responsive spots on my neck and sent me reeling.

"Love is much more than physical attraction you know."

"Did I not love you mind and soul, I would not desire your body nearly as much as I do, Gabrielle."

Opening my eyes, I focused on the only object bright enough to catch my attention in the darkened bedroom; Erik's white mask. It lay atop a book on his nightstand.

It would be numb of me not to consider that Erik didn't harbor an immense love for me, he would never strip himself of his most ardent defense.

Erik ran his fingers down my spine to the erogenous area where my lower back met my bottom, stimulating the tender nerve endings by drawing invisible circles with the tips of his nails.

With this solitary move he both relaxed and aroused me.

Even though we'd made love twice since last night, I craved more of him. I reached over to pluck another French letter from the tin on the table, swept my arm back, and delivered the birth control into Erik's waiting hand.

"I've whet my darling's appetite once more, have I?"

My reply was to rub my bottom against his desire. He parted the folds of soft skin between my thighs and entered me with careful slowness.

Soon enough we were moving against each other in search of loving satisfaction.

After a leisurely two person bath beneath the shower head that Erik had recently fashioned for me, we enjoyed a substantial breakfast of muesli, yogurt, eggs and buttermilk scones pulled together and served up by none other than Monsieur DuPuis; we embarked on our individual morning duties.

Now that the Roux's were three provinces away, I could traipse about in my favorite outfit; a white muslin blouse and a red knee length peasant skirt.

My beloved blue jeans that had made the time jump with me no longer fit, so I encouraged Erik to order a sewing machine from America. Sewing by pedal power was not my idea of progress, but it did the trick and I turned out a few simple built-for-comfort peasant style skirts, pajama pants and blouses.

Wearing skirts that not drag through the dirt and tops without the need of a wretched corset made me very happy. I hoped the festive scarlet color of the skirt might help pick up my mood a bit. Standing in front of my vanity table mirror, I noticed that the blush had returned to my cheeks. I smiled and picked up my silver handled hairbrush and began to brush out my dark coppery hair, reflecting on last night's conversation in my bedroom.

It struck me that Erik's extended absence into what I'd nicknamed his bunker had a favorable effect on him. If I were to believe his recent confession, he'd decided to visit Christine only to retire, once and for all, their unfinished personal business.

_Damn it, why hadn't I thought to ask him for a new wedding date_?

"Gabrielle?" Erik called from the bottom of the furthermost side of the manor's twin staircase, "I'm off to Paris. Won't you come to bid me farewell darling?"

_It's really happening isn't it?_ I snorted in frustration, giving the brush a careless toss onto the vanity. I put on my best thorn birds face and swept down the stairs as if I hadn't a care in the world, to where Erik stood amid his luggage.

"Must you leave, sweetheart?" I implored gently, straightening the collar of his travel cloak, hoping I didn't sound desperate.

He peered down at me with tenderness. An errant tear spilled from the corner of my eye and he wiped at it with a gloved finger.

"I must; ma belle. Do not worry so, I shall return to you in three days. The day after tomorrow the Roux's return from their holiday—perhaps Marie can keep you amply occupied so you do not have to imagine all sorts of unfounded scenarios."

"Well I do have boo-coos of writing waiting for me…"

"There you go; I'll be back irritating you with my demands in a snap of the fingers." Erik snapped his fingers and gestured grandly, reaching behind my ear. There in his opened palm lay a perfect emerald.

"An inferior token of my love for you until I return."

I managed a crooked smile, and picked the gem carefully from his gloved hand.

"Thank you Erik, it's very pretty."

"Your birthstone, is it not?"

"Emerald for June, yes."

"Consider this an early wedding present. When I return, we'll have the jeweler set the gem in any fashion that you desire."

His gift both amazed and confounded me. I nodded cautiously.

"You'd best kiss me before you go to your little diva."

"Gabrielle," Erik tisked, but before he could complain, I drew his head down and pressed my lips against his. He embraced me tightly and reciprocated. I kissed him as if it would be the last, memorizing the feel and taste of his mouth, his hair beneath my fingers and his unique musk of his body. Eventually we pried our lips apart, and peered into each other's eyes.

I loved Erik's eyes; jade dappled with gold. They had the ability to change shades depending on his surroundings or mood. There was so much to read in those eyes and right now they were full of love and sorrow.

"I am tempted to stay here, carry you up to my bedroom, rip off your clothes and bury myself inside of your velvet warmth."

"Good—you know Erik, I've been thinking…wondering really."

"Yes darling?"

"Sex with you is a tantric trip through an erotic never-never land, but there is so much more to us than base physical attraction, Erik."

He plucked off an errant thread from his black cloak and frowned, "Go on."

"I may be more mature than my nineteenth century sisters, but I give of myself only in love. I mean, we're more to one another than what my contemporaries call fuck buddies. Do you comprehend what I'm saying to you Erik?"

"Gabrielle, any woman who lies with me is either blind or deeply, unequivocally, in love with me. There's really no other explanation."

I twisted my mouth sideways. It pained me to hear Erik depreciate himself.

"Look here—you have become the sort of confidante I never believed possible. You challenge my mind; revive my soul and stir my emotions; my bleak sarcasm is replaced with joyful laughter. Before you, the only beauty in my life was that which I created, it would never seek me out of its own accord."

Erik held my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tipped my face upward. I placed my hand over his and looked into his eyes with difficulty.

"Know that if our bodies could never again be joined, my heart would still belong to you."

I smiled weakly. _Did I believe him? I wasn't certain, but it was what I wanted to hear_.

Erik picked up his bag, "Au revoir Mon amour."

"Ditto," I replied softly, releasing him.

Erik kissed my forehead then, opened the door and walked down the stone steps of the manor house to his waiting brougham.

I had no desire to watch him ride into the sunset, so to speak, so I closed the door swiftly.

With Erik gone, the remnants of my strength crumbled. I fell against the door, slid to the floor and exploded into a pitiful, sobbing heap.

Sadness over Erik leaving me alone for several days and of knowing he was to visit an old flame would make any woman weary, but sobbing like a heroine in a cheap romance paperback, well, that was plain silly; especially after he had re-asserted his intent to marry me.

I'd become uncommonly emotional as of late. "_What the hell was up with that,"_ I asked the pictures in the hall.

I picked my self up off the floor and went in search of a large basket. I had zero time for hysterics; there were apples in the orchard begging to be made into an apple crisp and I intended to inhale all of it, alamode!

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Two days crept by in a timeless blur of sleeping, rising, eating, feeding the animals, showering, reading or writing then sleeping once more.

I wasn't particularly unhappy. I played with the barn cats, rode the horses, piddled in the rose garden and spent significant time keeping the manor clean so Marie wouldn't come home to an old dusty house with dirty linens to wash and floors to sweep. This was to be my home and there was a lot of it; Marie needed assistance in keeping the monster tidy.

Late on the afternoon of the second day while I was in the library singing a Pink song at the top of my lungs, the one about getting the party started, and dusting innumerable books, I heard the doorknocker clack loudly against its brass plate.

Forever wary that the freakazoid, Monsieur Vincenzo, would pay us an unannounced visit, I grabbed the razor sharp letter opener from Erik's desk and proceeded to the front door.

I was relieved when the fellow on the other side of the door was a messenger boy with a special delivery letter for Mdm. Gabrielle Thomassen.

When I eyed Erik's script on the envelope, my pulse spiked. The poor messenger boy got a right scare when I squealed and pecked him on the cheek.

I scrawled my name across the register and sent him along with a hefty tip. The letter was out of its envelope before I'd closed the door.

How odd that Erik chose to type rather than write this, I puzzled.

Maybe he came across of one of the new typewriters and wanted to try his hand at using the contraption. _Erik, he does love new gadgets_, I smiled.

I took a seat in the salon and began to read:

_Dearest Gabrielle, I hope this letter finds you well. You will be relieved to know that I have come to a final decision concerning our affair. _

Didn't you just tell me that the last night before you left?

_I am the most selfish and terrible of men to treat you so after all we've been to each other, and would not blame you if you now loathe me, but I must do what is best for all involved._

_Although I love you dearly and do appreciate with all sincerity your kindness and affections, I fear that I cannot live my life without my Angel of Music._

My stomach gurgled.

_Do not weep, my dove, for you are sure to find a more suitable mate than I. Please do not fret about your future dear; I have made ample provisions for you. Inside the glass base of the hookah in my music room, you will find a considerable amount of money hidden within. It is yours to begin a new life with._

How flip-dipping kind and thoughtful of you, Erik

_Christine will travel with me to Venice where we will marry, then we shall return to the manor the following week; therefore, it is necessary for you to vacate the manor house by Tuesday. Please feel at liberty to utilize my carriage to move your belongings to your new destination. I hope that someday you will forgive me, until then, thank you for loving me, Gabrielle._

_With warm regards, _

_Erik._

I wadded up the fine stationary in both hands and slammed it against the floor, watching the paper ball tumble beneath the decorative coffee table.

"_What in the bloody hell is this shit_?" I screamed.

Sure, there was minor fear about losing him to that woman, after all she was the almighty Christine, but Erik assured me that he'd come back to me.

"You love me, I know you do, more than her," I shrieked.

What happened? Did they sing a duet? Did she drug him? Could it be the fact that she is from his time and culture and they share a world that I can never be part of?

_Oh Erik, I thought you were different from the others, from Tony. This cannot be happening_.

I slapped myself hard when I began to cry.

_No Gab, don't do this, not over this man, this—this antiquated weasel._

I suppose all he wanted from me was a warm body, a stand in for his dream girl, then, voila, Christine returns available and in heat.

1877, 2006, they're all weasels aren't they?

Well she can have the sorry fils d'une chienne! I'm out of here!

- 0 -

_**DO NOT FLAME THE AUTHOR! I do want your reviews and thoughts. This story will get even more interesting so please, please stay with me. Thank you for taking the time to read it, I mean that.**_

_**-Leesa**_

**Notes: Fils d'une chienne means SOB **

_**Muesli is a whole grain cereal**_


	64. Ch 64 Erik's Hovel

**_Wow, thank you for the reviews on chapter 63. I noticed many new names, it's great to meet you—lots of pontificating going on too, and I like that. The quick update is your reward. Read on… _**

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**Ch 64 Erik's Hovel**

He wants me gone, fine.

After many hours of walking, screaming and more walking, I calmed down enough to make a rational decision; I would travel to Paris and face Erik at Christine's townhouse. I needed to hear Erik's rejection of me from his very own lips.

Finding the townhouse vacant would be sufficient proof that they had indeed left for Vienna. I planned to carry my belongings with me in case of such an incident; that way, all I had left to do was buy a train ticket to London where my friend Mary Anne awaited my tentative arrival.

I spoke my intentions to the walls of my bedroom as I flung pieces of clothing and other necessary belongings into a leather steamer trunk.

Not telling the Roux's would be unkind. I would wait for their return before venturing on to London.

At the moment, action was the only balm that I knew would sooth my fresh wounds. I packed all that I felt was necessary— toiletries, pens, ink and paper, and clothing. For Erik, I left my iPOD and the beautiful Spanish guitar he had given me for Christmas. I didn't wish to be reminded of music; let Christine find those things and pick Erik's brain about the nature of such unusual items.

My haphazard packing finished, I pulled the large trunk over the threshold of my former bedroom and down the hallway to the stairs. I grasped onto its hardy leather handle and let the trunk slide down the stairs one awkward step at a time. At the bottom I released it, allowing the heavy thing to come to rest on the floor with a thud.

That was the easy part; I could only guess how I would get the cumbersome piece of luggage up and on the carriage tomorrow morning.

While pulling the luggage through the house, I would occasionally catch a glimpse of a particular room or an object reminding me of my life with Erik. I used my searing pain as fuel to drive me forward in my quest for a new life.

The trunk's small rollers did little to help maneuver it around. Once I parked it by the front door, I sat and took a rest on it. Surveying the priceless artifacts and paintings that surrounded me, I fantasized about how cathartic it would be to throw and smash Erik's priceless objects against the wall.

_But you're better than that aren't you Gabrielle?_ I told myself.

I may be from a vulgar future society, but I was at my core a lady. I would not debase the memory of this house by unleashing my frenzy on inanimate objects.

There was one thing I'd failed to accomplish the entire time I'd lived at DuPuis Manor; something that vexed me greatly, I'd failed to find Erik's secret underground hideout. Hell, there was not one square inch of the mansion I hadn't searched. The entrance must be via a secret trap door.

Damn it, it was happening again; each time I chose to swallow unsavory thoughts and emotions, my stomach lurched, and if I didn't barf, I wanted to.

And so I spent the next three hours on my bed with a large metal bowl and a pot of chamomile mint tea. This gave me ample time to pontificate all the thoughts I'd attempted to push from my conscious mind.

Why would Erik lie to me before he left? I ruled out sex, it simply didn't make sense. The men I'd known before would take what they wanted then do all they could to avoid you the following day. Erik took great pains to reassure me of his devotion to me.

His note did not match his actions. But this is _the_ Christine—Erik's muse and darling. Could it be that the chasm between our time periods was too different for Erik? Spending time with Christine helped him to remember what it was like to share moments and memories with a woman who had actually shared the same past.

Science proved time and again that, in the final analysis, like always seeks out like, rejecting a perfectly acceptable surrogate in lieu of one's own. That dynamic was perhaps the one thing which I was incapable of competing against when it came to Erik and Christine.

_Lordy, Gab you really are a misfit aren't you_, I sneered.

Food seemed a horrific idea, but my nausea had long passed and I needed nutrition. Making my way into the kitchen, I wondered what continued to make me ill. I wasn't getting worse, so I ruled out one of those plagues I'd read about in history class.

Could Marie be right, was I pregnant? Perish the very thought! But I was late by a week and a half. No…

Wouldn't that just suck the big one, preggers and man-less in nineteenth century Europe? Nice joke, God, can I go back to Kansas now?

Two days ago this would have been joyous news. Boy, John Lennon was right when he said that life is what happens when you're making other plans. How would I break this news to Erik? Would I break the news to Erik? That was the true question here.

He did have a right to know if he was to be a daddy…someday, but not now. I had zero desire to be married out of pity or duty. Erik's uncharacteristic code of honor when it came to children and women would insist that he do so.

_Buwahaha_, my devious laugh echoed off the bedroom walls. S_erve Christine right wouldn't it?_

Thoughts of revenge always cheered me up whenever some meanie whizzed in my Cheerios.

From the long wall shadows, I knew sunset was near. There was still work to do in the barn. Erik's stupid roses could die for all I cared; just yesterday while I pruned them a large thorn from his Christine bush stabbed through the garden glove and into my thumb, making it bleed. However, the horses and barn cats did not deserve to pay for their owner's disloyalty.

I pulled on boots and a wool coat and headed out to the barn to pitch more straw into the horses' stalls. The chilly afternoon told me that the evening temperatures could take a significant dive.

The twilight sky shone purple gold over the treetops; Venus was a brilliant pinprick, and the moon, a silver sliver of a fingernail. I filled my lungs with cool fresh air. How I loved the French countryside— always glorious in her distinct seasons.

Before entering the main barn, I lit a lantern, making sure to close the glass surrounding it tightly. A blazing barn fire was the last thing I needed.

The horses must have heard me rattling around. Dante and Anjalia welcomed me with a hearty whinny from inside their individual stalls.

"All right my little ponies, who wants a treat?" Velvety noses sensed the apple slices I'd stashed in the coat pocket, even the little bay, Scherezade, rose from her slumber to check out the action. Doling out the goodies as I walked the row of stalls, I petted necks and noses for the last time.

My wounds from Erik's Dear Jane letter were so fresh that my system's natural anesthesia had yet to wear off. Sadness and regret would come soon enough; right now I used this numbness to get me through the chores before me in the next twelve hours.

Henry kept his hand implements in a small lean-two next to the barn entrance; there I would find the pitchfork.

"I'll be right back guys," I hollered to the beasties on my way to the tool shed. I grasped the latch in my right hand and pulled but it did not budge. Henri locked the shed, I sighed in frustration. I guess it slipped his mind. Hadn't I spied a rusty pitchfork propped against the small barn?

Better than nothing, I mused as I picked my way through tall, wispy grass to the barn where Erik kept two mules.

"Hey there Brahms and Liszt, I didn't forget about you two," I fed them both a half an apple and scratched behind their big lanky ears. Noticing the ample bed of straw bedding in each stall, I closed the barn door behind me and walked around to the backside in search of the rusty pitchfork.

The ground in that area was worn and still muddy from a recent rain. My left boot slid sideways and I reached out a hand to steady myself on the side of the barn. Several of the planks gave way, flipping inward. Naturally, I lost all balance and went tumbling into the darkness.

I landed on my rump in a type of vestibule. How strange, why would there be a false wall on the side of the barn? This is weird.

Feeling along the wall, I noticed the texture of the wood was smooth, not splintery and rough like that of the barn's exterior. I felt for seams indicate an entrance, but found none discernable to the touch.

Once, after showing Erik the small Berretta Tomcat that had made the time jump in the bottom of my purse and proving to him that I had the skill to shoot it, he showed me a wall in his study. If one were to apply pressure on the bottom right edge of that particular part of the wall, it would open and flip around to reveal an arsenal of firearms.

"Now, Gabrielle," he had instructed, "Should you need defense against a formidable foe, remember that these are here, armed and ready for use."

I kicked the bottom edge of the smooth paneled wall before me, and applied pressure. It couldn't have swung open any easier if I'd said shazzam.

If I expected narrow musty steps and hanging cobwebs, I got them the entire 18 steps downward. Fortunately the flame in my lantern did not extinguish when I tripped, and now at the bottom of the stairwell I could make out a doorknob. How funny, a simple, common doorknob leading to a secret chamber. Erik's humor, I supposed.

Fear told me to proceed carefully just in case booby traps waited on the other side of that door. I turned the porcelain knob and yanked at the door. Nothing; no spikes, nooses, or shards of glass. Gas lamps glowed low on the walls of a vast room.

I was Alice on the other side of the looking glass, swiveling my head to and fro while treading soft and slow across the carpeted floor.

An enormous throne sat upon a pedestal in the center of the room; all around it were huge brass candelabras. I noted a pianoforte to my right and a sitting area to the left. Velvet draperies hung over windowless walls. Musical scores and sketches littered the floor. Stashed in a corner near a barrister's bookcase, a wine rack brimmed with full bottles. Some sort of art perched on an easel, its surface covered with cheesecloth.

Indulging my journalistic curiosity, I lifted the cloth. What I saw took my breath away; it was an oil painting, a nude of me, but I was not alone. My likeness reclined on blue velvet, the precise shade of the duvet cover on Erik's bed. My hair flowed loose over golden pillows, green and brown eyes looked upward with rapt adoration to the naked man hovering above me. The man's dark brown hair fell into his face and hid his features, but the slender hands cupping my breasts were unmistakable.

Erik had painted us in the act of making love. The artist's choice of lush colors and brilliantly simple technique hinted at hope, promise and passion. The rendering was erotic and beautiful; I searched the painting for a sign that might tell me when he'd created the art. Tucked into the left corner I spied _Erik, 1876_, months before we had become lovers.

This was his ardent fantasy, come to life on canvas.

For the first time since that stupid letter arrived, I wept.

I knelt in front of Erik's painting and reached up to stroke the surface as one does a bottle hoping for a live genie to emerge and grant three wishes.

"Oh Erik, why," I whispered.

Shifting my gaze, I noticed something rather unusual across the room, beyond a single bed where I assumed Erik slept when he holed up here. I saw something that resembled a curtained dressing area. Three sides of the apparatus were visible. Lapis velvet swags and valances hung from the poles. I _had_ to check it out.

Braided ties lay limp at the side of the swags and I guessed they were meant to open the area up when not in use. But why would anyone require privacy way down here? Could it be a showcase for one of Erik's splendidly cool automations? I just had to check it out.

Eagerly I reached out to brush aside a panel. The wan light did not afford me enough illumination to see what hid behind the velvets.

I took hold of a tie and fumbled around for the hook to fix it on, then decided to repeat the procedure on the other side.

Mon dieu! Before my eyes stood a life sized figurine of Christine. She wore a lacy wedding gown and veil. How long I stared at that thing, I couldn't tell, time was swallowed up in disbelief.

As if the life size Chrissie doll weren't enough, Erik had built a sort of alter around her. Miniature Christine's in various costumes and settings were everywhere. Interspersed between the dolls I saw candles and dead roses tied with black ribbons. Sketches hung from the velvet walls. Beneath my feet I saw two or three handkerchiefs. I bent to pick up one but promptly threw it back in disgust when I felt the tell-tale stiffness of the fabric.

This was Erik's perverse shrine to his diva. While I grasped the fact that he probably built this shortly after coming to the manor, I couldn't get past knowing that in the past year and a half, he'd spent significant time down here with _her_.

Finding the curtains of the shrine closed did nothing to quell my misgivings. Even if Erik no longer worshiped at the shrine of his Nordic virgin, why hadn't he destroyed it or simply put it away once he became an engaged man?

Bitter bile rose and burned in the back of my throat. Here, before my eyes lay all the proof I needed that 'my' Erik continued to love and desire Christine.

I no longer doubted the legitimacy of his Dear Jane letter.

Even a sound vessel can burst under pressure. For weeks I buried my trepidation, anger and sorrow beneath a façade of sensibility and strength.

Two choices presented themselves to me; explode or implode. I choose the former.

"Ayiieee!" My battle cry reverberated through Erik's fancy hovel. I filled my fists with velvet, tearing savagely at the swags, ripping them from their supports. Wooden and bamboo poles clattered to the ground, drawing paper, wax figurines, candles— everything went flying in all directions.

I stood amid the ruins, a wild-eyed madwoman, panting, a velvet panel still clutched in one hand.

What fresh hell was this that the waxy Christine remained like a serene Madonna in the center of the chaos, a placid smile on her cherry painted lips?

_You bitch; even your facsimile mocks me._ Pulling back, I delivered a swift and precise roundhouse kick to the Chrissie doll's face. If her curl-laden head had snapped off and rolled any better, she'd have been Marie Antoinette.

"Score, sweet!" I hollered. Next, I nabbed a wooden pole from the floor and started swinging. This time I was Derek Jeter.

Wax arms crumbled at their joints and bits of Christine scattered, leaving only a gown-clad torso.

_Nice dress Erik, too bad it needs a serious alteration._ I latched onto the neckline of the lacy white wedding gown and tore fiercely at the expensive lace. The ripping sound was sweet music to my ears.

The remaining torso toppled over with a push from my hand.

When I stepped out to walk away from the carnage, I kicked something that felt like a plastic dog toy.

There, inches from my toe of my right boot, lay the remnants of Christine's delicate left hand. I picked it up and examined the falsie. It was broken below the wrist and cracked diagonally against where her lifeline should be.

I smiled the manic smile of a jilted woman who finds great joy in performing inane acts of revenge; calling and hanging up at four in the morning, writing rude messages in shaving cream on your ex's car, putting his name and phone number on the telemarketing list and the like.

I bent down and picked up the detached hand, holding it between my thumb and fore finger as if it were a dead rat. I walked with abnormal calm through the room, out the door and up the dark steps and back into the inky night. I didn't bother to close the door behind me; I wanted Erik and Christine to know, to see the depth of my hatred reflected in the destruction below.

I paused and gulped in the cool night air, then stretched my head back and rolled it around from shoulder to shoulder.

Above me, Cassiopeia and Andromeda winked in the autumnal sky. Venus had barely popped over the horizon when I went down there.

Geez, how long was I underground? Oh, please let me have slipped through another time in time. When I peer through the carriage house window, let me see parked within, not carriages but automobiles.

No suck luck; through the four-paned windows of the carriage house I saw only familiar shadow of Erik's luxurious landau carriage.

Lordy, was I beat. The night didn't feel like it was going to be as cold as I'd originally thought, which meant that the horses would be plenty warm in their existing beds of straw.

Dragging my weary bones into the manor house and up stairs to the water closet, I soaked in an overly warm bath, drank a small glass of wine and stuffed my carcass into my bed. Tomorrow would be a busy day for me.

The fact that I slept is proof that there is a God.

I awoke with a deluge of ideas that whirled and buzzed in my mind; what would I do once I reached Mary Ann's and how I could elude Erik wherever I ended up, those were the biggies.

I made the decision to leave early in the day, before the Roux's returned from their brief holiday. Disappearing before I could say my personal farewells to them was a grievous breach of etiquette; I'd come to love the old French couple, but I did not have enough might left to recount the unpleasant story of Erik's letter or my findings in Monsieur Dupuis' underground room. Answering questions as to where I would go could also prove sticky because I wished to put distance between the lord of the manor and me.

If Henry and Marie knew, they would, out of respect for their employer, feel obliged to inform him of where my whereabouts.

The older couple was kind and helpful to me while I lived at the manor, their daughter was my friend and I felt they all deserved an explanation and a proper goodbye. As for Erik, although he had been kind to me and I suppose he had loved me, I didn't know if I could pen a note for him. I would only vacillate between sorrow and anger. To what advantage would that be?

With pen and parchment in hand, I seated myself at the kitchen table and began to write:

_Dear Mdm. and M. Roux,_

_When you receive this note, you will not know of Erik's news. He informed me by messenger yesterday that he and Christine, Comtess de Chagny, are to be married in Venice this very week, after which the couple plans to return to the manor. _

_Naturally, Erik has requested that I vacate the house as soon as possible. I figure sooner is better than later. _

_I'll be availing myself of the carriage, which I will leave in the care of the stables at the Paris train station. It is with much sadness that I bid you adieu; your kindness will remain forever in my heart. Give my regards to your dear daughter Caron. I promise to write when I settle into my new accommodations._

_Please forgive me for withholding my destination from you; I'm not sure I want Erik to know of my whereabouts._

_And Marie, I fear you are correct about my condition. Do not worry about me, I am a strong girl._

_With affection,_

_Mdm. Gabrielle Thomassen _

I creased the parchment neatly in fourths and slipped it into an envelope. Writing the Roux's name on it, I left it unsealed on the table.

Sucking on the end of the pen, it took some time before I made finite decision to leave Erik a note.

Considering what we had been through these past fifteen months, my appearance in this century, Erik finding and rescuing me, his belief of my outlandish time travel story, plus the uncommon friendship and love which bloomed between us. Then there was the trust…

_Trust_, I spat the word out like a bad bit of food. The note would be short, no use in rehashing day old love after all.

I dipped the nib in the blood red ink and began,

_Erik,_

_When you receive this note, I will be long gone from your life. Thank you for your benevolence, for the nights of reading and of music, of your guidance, and of making love. I hope you and Christine will live happily ever after_(not really, but it's the civilized thing to say, no?).

_I am a fool to have thought our affair was unique and never ending. I now realize that I could never compete with a woman of your time. We would have only remained unsolved mysteries to one another. For a man of your genteel sensibilities I am too independent, too forward, too peculiar, too opinionated and perhaps even not talented enough for your discriminating tastes. Erik, I loved you as if you _were_ a part of my very soul, and so part of my soul shall always remain with you._

_Remember these wise words from a future first lady of the United States, Eleanor Roosevelt, "No one can make you feel insecure about yourself unless you allow them to."_

_In love and loss, _

_Gabrielle_

"Asshole," I muttered out loud. Angry curse words have always been my favorite way to blow off steam. My brother used to tell me that I had Turrets' syndrome.

I sealed the note its envelope and climbed the stairs to Erik's bedchamber.

He couldn't miss this if I placed it right on his pillow. No, _she_ might find it and destroy it. Better to put it on the piano in the music room. Christine wouldn't dare go in there without Erik's permission.

A wicked smile crossed my lips when I thought about what I held in my other hand.

- 0 –

**_Thank you Amy for the beta help and thank you readers and reviewers. You already know that Erik is not intrinsically a bad man, but how much does he have to do with Gabrielle's leaving DuPuis Manor? You'll find out after Gab makes a new life for herself. And now, a review please._**

**_(Have a stellar weekend)_**

_**-Leesa**_


	65. Ch 65 Numb

**_Bienvenue! The following is a quick bridge chapter. Thanks for your diligent reviews, there is an author's note to follow._**

**_-Leesainthesky_**

**Ch65 Numb**

The hand was level enough at the bottom for it to sit up right on Erik's bedside table. I made sure to open the draperies so the sun could illuminate the brilliant fire in the ruby and diamond ring, which now adorned the wax trophy's ring finger.

I clasped my hands together and stood back to admire my handiwork, a malefic smile twisted at the corners of my mouth.

_Perfect_, I said aloud.

My engagement ring. At first, I considered keeping the ring, after all Erik gave it to me in love, but now he loved another. I thought about how much money the major piece of bling might bring in, but decided that leaving it on Christine's detached hand by his bedside was worth more to me than money.

I owned scads of other jewels I could hawk if necessary. Money was not an issue at the moment; I'd saved most of my earnings from my days of employment at the manor. Even after Erik and I became engaged, he provided me with an all too generous allowance.

Screw him, he can keep his engagement ring and the money in the hookah; I no longer needed the benevolence of Monsieur DuPuis.

I considered Erik's letter; should I tear it into minute pieces, burn it, or leave it for him to find?

How about making a game of it? Erik loves a challenge, why not leave it for him—torn into many tiny bits of paper in the music room waste can. If his curiosity gets the best of him, he can piece it together, that would be my answer to his letter!

I left his bedchamber without a backward glance, past my bedroom and down the stairs to his music room where the farewell letter waited on his piano bench.

I stood above the tin waste can next to the piano poised to rip savagely at the fine parchment. Each piece of torn paper a manifestation of my shredded heart; one for the times Erik claimed to love me, one for his kindness, another piece for putting up with his arrogance, more for the way I'd kept his dark secrets and many, many more for the times we made love.

Instead, I stashed Erik's note in my skirt pocket.

I walked down the hall to the back of the mansion. My traveling cloak and riding gloves lay across a carpet bag. I swung the cape across my shoulders and slid on the sturdy leather gloves, picked up my bag, leaden with slightly more than I entered this nineteenth century world with, and walked out the door into the waiting carriage that would spirit me away from DuPuis manor forever.

The day was in concert with my mood, steel-gray and chilly. The carriage horses trotted down the long lane toward the front gates. I resisted the urge to glance behind me for one final look, lest I turn into a pillar of salt from the tears that promised to fall.

All the way into Paris, I thought about Erik's letter. Why would he do such a dastardly thing? It didn't ring true for him, but then love can do strange things to a person's rationality.

No time to ponder what you cannot possible know, Gab, I told myself. You just keep your eyes focused on the new road ahead.

A light mist began to fall when I turned the carriage onto the street where Christine lived.

The beat of my heart took on a Doppler effect when I spied her townhouse, thumping louder and louder the nearer I came.

I fully intended to tell her off if she were there; Erik too, of course. Would I be able to say what I had to say without completely coming undone and turning into a scorned, angry shrew? I didn't really know and I didn't care.

I drew up the horses and jumped from the landau's high driver's throne. Drawing deep calming breaths, I approached the double doors of the de Chagny residence and hit the door knocker swiftly three times.

I'd no sooner taken my hand from the brass lion's head than the door opened inward. The same fellow who greeted me a few days back now looked at me. His raised his uni-brow at me. "May I help you Madame?"

"The Comtess and her guest, Monsieur DuPuis, are they in?" I asked.

"I am terribly sorry; Madame, but they've both departed as of yesterday. Would you care to leave a message for the Comtess?" offered the impeccably dressed servant.

"No Monsieur," I held my cloak closed against the wind and prepared to leave when I had another thought, "One more thing if you please, when will the Comtess be returning from Venice?"

"We expect her party to return the following Thursday."

"Of course, thank you." Before he could inquire of my name and business, I retreated down the steps, the wind knocked from my sails.

I heard the door click shut behind me.

Damn! Nervous though I was about a confrontation, I realized that was exactly what I wanted—a fight. A shot at telling Erik what a duplicitous prick he was and to Christine, what a conniving little whore I thought she was to have played her hand for an engaged man.

There was nothing left for me to do than drive to train station, leave the carriage and the horses in the hands of the livery, buy a ticket and roll to London.

Gare Saint-Lazare was always a busy place, the hub of travel for well-to-do travelers, it was a place of opulence with its Beaux-Arts style façade, large exterior clock and high arched windows.

I'd visited the station once before in 1998. The irony of my improbable circumstances was not lost on me. The Gare Saint-Lazare had only been finished thirty four years before, in 1843. The old world beauty was wasted on Gabrielle Thomassen; if I admired the architecture, I would only wonder what Erik might say about the structure. Today I had no wish to ruminate on the likings of Monsieur DuPuis.

Did I remember the disapproving look of the ticket agent when he realized I traveled sans chaperone, or of the porter relieving me of my luggage, or even of the call to board? In all honesty, I could not. All I remember is jockeying for position in the crowded train car for my window seat.

Tomorrow morning the train would arrive at the shores of the English Channel, where I would ferry across and link up with another train into London. From there I would take a cab to the doorstep one of the century's brightest literary minds, my confident and mentor George Eliot, aka Mary Ann.

I slipped a hint of laudanum into my tea, stuffed a small pillow behind my neck, and entered a dreamless twelve hour sleep.

"Madame, Madame are you all right?" I heard the voices and thought they were part of a dream, and then I felt someone's hand on my shoulder. "Please say something!"

I willed my eyes to open, and there looming over me I saw a man and two women. They appeared to be most worried about something.

"Oh, thank goodness!" one young woman with a too big black velvet hat exclaimed.

"There, you see all is well," said the man placing a comforting hand on the young woman's shoulder, "only sleeping dear." He then looked over at me. "Madame may I fetch you refreshment?"

He wore a uniform and coordinating hat; I assumed the man must be an employee of the rail line.

My mouth felt like I'd sucked in a couple of fuzz bunnies. "Water please," I said. Good heavens, did these people think something was wrong with me? "What time is it?" I asked.

"Two thirty-three," said the man as he checked his pocket watch, "An hour shy of pulling into the station. These good people noticed that you'd not stirred the entire trip and thought that perhaps, well that you…"

"…You were dead, or s-something." The young woman was surprised by her own morbid thought, blushed and placed two gloved fingers to her mouth.

"Come now Darleen, do not say such things," the larger older woman scolded. I figured the elder one must be the young woman's mother or her chaperone.

I sat up and removed the silk pillow from my neck. "I've been terribly tired and must have fallen into an extraordinarily deep sleep. Gosh, I didn't mean to scare anyone. I'm fine, really—thank you all."

I accepted the glass of water from the uniformed man and gulped it down as if it were fine champagne.

"If you are certain," the elder woman asked.

"Yes, absolutely," I smiled.

Slowly the two women backed away and returned to their assigned seats.

I had a feeling I looked frightful, I'd probably had drool coming from my mouth while I slept.

The ferry trip over to England was not as easy and breezy as the train ride. Always turbulent, the waters of the English Channel tossed our vessel about, awaking the sleeping nausea-beast in my stomach.

I spent much of the trip to the British shores ralphing over the side of the ferry boat.

The remainder of my journey to London went considerably more smoothly. My stomach calmed down and forgave me enough for me to down a few biscuits and some mild tea.

Catching a cabby to take me to Marry Anne's London home was an easy feat as every man in proximity of the Victoria Station fell over himself in his quest to assist a lone woman. They figured I was too stupid to know what the going fare was and they could rip me off.

Wrong-o; I paid close attention when Erik and I had visited earlier in the year. A quick trip to the center of the city should cost less than a shilling. The Eliot residence wasn't much farther that.

The cabriolet rattled over the cobblestone streets of London, past shops street vendors, poultries, bakeries and greengrocers. I closed the curtain against the frenzy of folks tackling the business of their day, yet welcomed the dank, putrid stench of organic rot and coal smoke often prevalent in the city. Rather than repulse me, it reflected my mood.

Mary Ann and her partner, George Henry Lewes spent their summers in the country and the winters in London, where access to necessities and friends was far easier.

Once at their London home, my young cabbie assisted me to unload my steamer trunk. I tipped him amply for his services and approached the door of the literary couple's home.

A sudden bout of trepidation swallowed my heart; what if my new nineteenth century friends did not welcome drop in guests? I'd be up ye old merdé creek.

Moments later, after a brave knock on the door, my angst departed. The honorable George Henry Lewes opened the door himself.

"Good day Mr. Lewes, I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd pay a visit," I curtseyed and smiled brightly.

"Dear, dear Gabrielle, it is my pleasure, do come in. Mary Ann," George announced loudly into the hallway, "Gabrielle has come to call, and it appears she's come for a stay." He gestured at the trunk.

I stepped into the vestibule, dragging my trunk and carpet bag with me when the tall, narrow faced Mary Ann appeared from a doorway halfway down the hall. The literary master whose hand penned classic novels Middlemarch, Daniel Deronda, and uncountable other genius literary works, walked toward me. She cast a glance at my luggage then to my face and held out her arms to me, full and welcoming,

"Misfortune has indeed brought you to me, hasn't it dear?"

- 0 -

**Author's note:_ It's nearly unanimous; many of you think Christine to be a "foul gerbil" and a "biatch" and want to see her "townhouse carpet-bombed by F-14s." Calling Gab a "weenie-assed redhead" wasn't fair, geez, who can think straight when their stressed (lol, PMEL)? Someone called me a devil (lol), and treated to plot against me_._ If I seem to be throwing you for fruit-loops, well it's my job. For the reader who covered all the chapters in two days bless your little eyeballs. Thank you for the responses. _**

_**-Leesa**_


	66. Ch 66 First Contact

**_Thank you for the reviews you've been diligently sending me. They are appreciated more than you know. Thank you Amy for the beta work. Hang on; there will be more Erik to com!_**

**_-Leesainthesky_**

**Ch 66 First Contact**

**"Oh Gabrielle, that dreadfully dull diva has stolen away your Erik hasn't she?" Mary Ann's large brown eyes shone with compassion. She'd received my letter a few days past. **

**"I'm afraid it's true, Mary Ann," I said.**

**"Honestly, I never imagined Monsieur DuPuis as the libertine sort. You never know what distortions lay within the soul of a man."**

**"Or woman, my darling," added George. He grinned at his wife and winked. **

**She shot her companion an astute expression. "Be a dear and find Carlisle for Gabrielle's things, would you George?" **

**"Certainly darling, traveling can be grueling; no doubt you'd appreciate a nap, Madame Thomassen." George bowed and retreated into the house to fetch their butler.**

**"Now that I'm standing on solid ground, the weariness is swallowing me from the feet up," I replied.**

**Mary Ann continued to hold onto me. "Forgive me for saying so, but you do look exhausted Gabrielle. Once you get a nap behind you, we shall take tea and you can fill us in on your misfortune."**

**A male servant appeared form the end of the hall, walking briskly toward us. "Yes, Madame?" **

**"Carlisle, this is Madame Thomassen, please take her luggage to the yellow guest room and make sure the maid tends to the linens and turns down the bed immediately."**

**"Right away ma'am," Carlisle nodded and retreated in much the same direction from which I'd seen him appear.**

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**Later, after a nap that was more toss and turn than rest and relaxation, I joined Mary Ann and George for high tea where I spilled forth the details of my tumultuous last two weeks.**

**Mary Ann suggested that Erik may come looking for me once Madame Roux alerted him of my condition. Marie Roux was an honorable woman and would not have her employer going about unaware of his impending fatherhood even if the recipient of his seed grew within his cast-off rather than his new bride.**

**The plan was to let me stay only two days in the London house, then travel to the country home of her dear friend, writer and activist Barbara Leigh Smith-Bodichon.**

**"You will absolutely adore one another, Gabrielle. Madame Bodichon is a brilliant and forward thinking woman; the two of you might even choose to work on suffragette projects together," she encouraged.**

**Madame Bodichon was a tireless supporter of a women's right to viable work, decent wages and education. An accomplished painter, Barbara spent most of her time with her equally brilliant husband, Eugene. The accomplished couple was fit to rub elbows with Europe's upper crust; they preferred the company of other artists and bohemians.**

**Barbara and her friends preferred to mill about London un-chaperoned, wearing black clodhopper boots and blue tinted glasses. They caused quite a stir among their fellow Victorians whose beliefs allowed them to approve only of personal repression. Along with Elizabeth Garrett and Emily Davies, she was also was responsible for founding Girton Women's College.**

**Barbara took me under her wing immediately agreeing with Mary Ann on the matter of my identity. Within the next day and a half, I found myself nestled into yet another new beginning at Scalands Cottage, Barbara's country home in a pinewood clearing at Harding's Wood.**

**"Now about the your writing, you will not be able to continue using your given name Gabrielle Thomassen; Erik will guess you've been in London with Mary Ann." **

**"Yes, I know you're right. Your home will be Erik's first stop should he decide to track me down, and I know he will once he learns of his impending parenthood. I'll be dammed if I let him take my child away so he and Miss Muffet can raise her," I stared pointedly at Mary Ann and smacked my hand against my thigh.**

**This was the sort of thing the authorities did to single mothers back in the 1800's.**

**I did like the idea of a pen name, something mysterious and clandestine chosen by me, for me alone. **

**The next month of life consisted of making new friends within the modern circle of London society. I fit in well; being a woman of independent means made me a curiosity, but it was a lifestyle admired and championed by many of my new friends. **

**And so my social calendar grew right along with the size of my belly. The ever present need to toss my biscuits and the fatigue abated, a sure sign that I must be moving into my second trimester. I snickered at the irony of what my Catholic friend from Chicago, Mary Pat, used to say, _what do you call a woman who uses the rhythm method of birth control? Pregnant_.**

**Well, who would have guessed between the condoms and my expert calculations…**

**OBGYN care in 1877 was questionable at best; between mid-wifery, dangerously over blown modesty and doctors with training equivalent to that of a voodoo priest, there was ample reason to be frightened about impending motherhood.**

**I'd experienced a modicum of relief when Barbara introduced me her friend, Dr. Elizabeth Garrett. Garrett was co-founder of the famous Elizabeth Garrett Anderson Hospital in London and one of the first physicians to champion extensive research in the area of women's re-productive health. I agreed to allow her to oversee my pregnancy and delivery.**

**I planned to increase Dr. Garrett's knowledge by telling her of some new techniques (adaptable to nineteenth century medicine). My claim would be that I'd learned these techniques while assisting my Uncle, also a visionary physician. She'd never heard of him because he'd gone to the wilds of Canada to assist the less fortunate Indian tribes still living within remote areas of the Great White North. **

**My hope was that the stories I wove were untraceable. I rationalized that revealing knowledge from my century would not upset the delicate balance of the time and space continuum, but indeed be helpful if I was to have a healthy baby. Such knowledge might, in small ways, assist Dr. Garrett in her cause for women's health.**

**My stay at Scalands was indefinite, so while there I took over the cooking. Evidently, the pervious cook had run off with an errant young Scotsman. Neither Barbara nor her husband Eugene, a French physician, cared to do it, therefore, if I'd not taken over, we would be dining on either gruel or cheese and bread on a daily basis.**

**The unconventional and generous couple lived mostly in London or abroad, and so offered up the cottage to me as a home for which I could raise my child. The thought of eventually making my way back to America also swam around in the back of my mind.**

**The country cottage held much beauty and quiet; if it weren't for my writing and visits from Mary Ann, George and Barbara's associates, I would have lost what was left of my tortured mind. It was in the quiet times of the evening when I stood at the window in my room watching the purples and blues of evening brush over the reds and yellow of the day that a veil of melancholy would descended over me.**

**In my previous life, I'd never entertained the idea of having a child—just wasn't in the cards for Gabrielle 2006. When Erik asked me to be his wife, I wanted to give him a child in spite of the perils of nineteenth century medicine. And now here I was in 1877, man-less, but certainly not childless.**

**I smiled and patted the small baby-bump now forming at my waist line.**

**Living among Victorian society's contemporaries wasn't all sadness and regret, running with this crowd afforded me more room to breath. Here were women who seldom bothered to wear tight corsets; some wore pants or bloomers with those little skirts over them. They moved about town unescorted, demanding admission to places where only men were normally allowed. **

**And oh, if one is a lover of the arts in any combination of her rich and varied forms, then I was nose deep in a utopian edification. Imagine playing parlour games or enjoying a splendid evening repast, good wine and lively conversation with the likes of George Eliot, future Prime Minister Herbert Gladstone, the Barrett Browning's, and John Ruskin.**

**Dinner parties were merry events where I regaled the guests with stories from my life, altered to fit the nineteenth century. Yes, my mother left when I was young, my father who was a doctor, died two years ago and I have no other relatives living, except for an uncle-in-law. I had no desire to belong to any man and preferred to make my own way. **

**Would I donate my time and creativity energies to the cause of furthering the lives of women? Absolutely. I found myself writing articles for _the Liberty_, and attending suffragette rallies. For such outings, I wore a short blonde wig and glasses. **

**I'd decided on a pen name too; Deborah Harry, singer of the 80's New Wave Rock group, Blondie. **

**However, my newfound freedoms weren't sufficient to mend my shattered heart. I missed Erik terribly. Loving someone you cannot have is a most excruciating and impossible hell. **

**No matter how strong and imperturbable I believe I may be, I can't escape the grip of this mother of all miseries. **

**Once my new allies and mentors had me safely ensconced in Hastings Woods, I settled into a routine. Like many in this area, Barbara was not often present in the winter months. The cities were far less susceptible to the cold winter wind. Mr. Bastion, a do-it-all sort of servant, stayed on at the cottage to help with maintenance and as a sentry of sorts—a pregnant woman should never be alone in the country even if she does have martial arts training. **

**I seldom saw the man, and so he scared the poodlie out of me the day I sat darning a pair of tights in the light of the parlour window. I'd had an odd sense of presence and looked up to find him staring at me, hands clasped in front of him. The needle missed and ended up sticking my thumb.**

** "Bastion, Lordy man! Do say something or cough next time you wish to approach me."**

**"Terribly sorry, Madame. I wished to wait until you'd finished."**

**"What, the all consuming chore of mending a stocking? **

**He dropped his chin.**

**"You've done no harm Bastion, but next time, do speak. You won't be a bother if you do, honest. What is it you require?" I asked with a smile.**

**"Madame Eliot to see you, shall I escort her in?"**

**I eyeballed him, "Naturally Bastion."**

**_Intriguing little man._ **

**He bowed out of the room and disappeared if he were a vapor. Within a few seconds, Mary Ann entered the parlour. Not a particularity handsome woman, she possessed the grace of a tall gazelle. **

**In her slender hand, she held a letter which she handed to me before accepting my invitation to seat herself. **

**"I felt it my duty as a friend to deliver this in person, you see it bears postmarks from the post in London, the receiving docks of Dover and Paris."**

**- 0 -**

**_OMG, not another not!_**

**_Lurkers, readers and regular reviewers, please send me some feedback, more to come soon. Thanks,_**

**_-Leesa_**


	67. Ch 67 Revelations

_**Author's note: **Forgive me if the timeline in the previous chapter was not clear; Gabrielle only spent two days at George Eliot's (Mary Ann's) home before hiding in Hastings at Scalands cottage. She has been there for three weeks now. Why has the letter taken this long to get to her? Mail by way of snail, plus the letter had to pass through Mary Ann's hands first as you'll see._

_Enjoy! -Leesainthesky_

**Ch 67 Revelations**

"Please Mary Ann, do be seated." I leaned forward with my hands clasped together. "It's nice to see you. I was feeling rather dull today; I guess it's the gray weather. Tea?" I gestured to the tray on the serving cart to my right.

"Oh yes, please. I fear the winter chill has seeped into fall already." She removed her cloak and scarf, folding them over the back of a comfortable chair covered with yellow and red paisley print.

I smiled inwardly at the thought of how Erik would have immediately hung up his outer garments before even thinking of sitting down for a chat.

Bastion always set out two tea cups should I wish to sample more than one flavor from the selection of fine teas provided, therefore I had no need to ring for an extra cup. I scooped loose tea leaves into the infuser and poured steaming water into her china cup. Mary Ann preferred Earl Gray.

I handed her the tea cup. "Now then Madame, what brings you to the woods besides my sparkling company?"

"What else is there?" Her bright smile was quick to fade.

"This letter arrived for you yesterday morning, Gabrielle. I figured that bringing it to you by rail would be much quicker than forwarding it via the post."

She held out the letter for me to take. I eyed the postmarks more closely. Just as I suspected from the color of one of the stamps, the correspondence's origin was France.

The seal bore a nondescript "R" within the wax circle. I popped open the seal and withdrew drew the letter from its envelope. Madame Roux's sturdy penmanship faced me from the page. I scanned it quickly and expelled a slow stream of air.

"Well, shall I guess who it is from or go ahead with my prying and ask you?"

"You're not prying we're writers; curiosity is only natural."

"I have only your interest at heart, my dear,"

"Then let me read it to you. Madame Roux, Marie, was distraught when she and her husband arrived back from holiday to discover the note detailing my hasty departure.

"No surprise there eh?" Having just taken a sip of hot tea, Mary Ann agreed with a quick nod.

"Naturally, the woman is most concerned for the unborn child and for me. She begs me to contact her as soon as I possibly can.

Here she claims that I've made a terrible mistake in the matter of Monsieur DuPuis,"

I smirked and rolled my eyes heavenward.

"Do tell!" replied Mary Ann.

"Marie's says, and I quote,"

"_When Monsieur DuPuis arrived back from Venice_…"

Mary Ann raised a blond eyebrow at me.

" …_and I ran to ask him of this with Christine, he had absolutely no answer but to admit that he had gone to speak with her and that he did indeed travel to Venice for two days at the sudden request of his new client, and did Gabrielle not receive his message saying so? He stomped off to his music room to replace his violin which he nearly always takes along when he travels. Upon entering the room, I heard him cry out, cursing loudly and throwing all sorts of furniture about as if he were a wild man. He then barreled from the room, scaring me to near death shouting 'Madame Roux, tell me what is the meaning of such insane rubbish? She believes me to have run off to marry Christine!' Child, all I could do was to look at the poor man dumbstruck and listen to his raving. _

_I sat him down to tell him that I knew of no such plan as we had only returned from holiday and blah, blah, blah…"_

"Oh my Lord! The woman told him of my _condition_, as she calls it."

"I was indeed afraid of such." Mary Ann furrowed her brow at me.

"…_Monsieur galloped up the main staircase to his room where, once more, I heard him howling and thrashing about. I bade Henri to go and attempt to calm the poor man. Henri did so, but came back down within moments, shaking his head. He told me that presently there was nothing we could do for Monsieur other than to be mindful that the man did not harm himself. Henri made mention of a hand too, an oddly lifelike rendering of a woman's wrist and hand. It wore what appeared to be your engagement ring. Monsieur was holding the thing and asking Henri 'Why?' over and over again. He'd torn his mask from his face. Henri said he'd never seen a more frightening sight, not so much due to the disfigurement but of the grief mingled with great tears of pain and rage on the man's face. _

_Oh Gabrielle, you simply must return this instant! Monsieur DuPuis did not spend the night in this house and when he resurfaced late in the afternoon, he was devoid of any emotion. Frankly dear, I fear what he may do. Why, he even threatened Henri and me that if we do know of your plans and choose not to divulge them, we shall be at the mercy of his considerable wrath._

_I felt it best to hand over to him the note you left for us. Monsieur knows of your condition and that you entertain thoughts of sailing for America. _

_Monsieur Dupuis is on the warpath and of this correspondence is preparing to go to London in search of you. _

_Please Gabrielle, I implore you to return to the manor or forward a letter to let us know of your whereabouts and of your health._

_Your obedient servant and dear friend,_

_Madame Marie Roux"_

I looked up from the letter to Mary Ann's ashen face. "Well now, what do you think of that? Of all the nerve! He's coming after me for the child, no doubt."

"Madame Roux made no mention of the Comtess; do you think it is possible that they were not wed after all?"

"According to his dear Jane letter to me, they were going to Venice. Erik went to Venice; Christine went to Venice too, so I can only assume that they are married."

"Perhaps they are not. Arrangements often do not come to their planned culmination, Gabrielle"

"Well, were that true, it would be because the Comtess got another look at his face and changed her mind. Erik once told me how she could not deal with it. Oh, in the end, she didn't wince and run from him, but even as she kissed him, she kept her eyes closed and shivered in fear. I don't know much of Christine; she doesn't seem like a dragon woman, but she still, even after years of marriage, strikes me as naïve and fragile. Believe me, life with Erik is no day at the spa. He's a dervish of complexities. Often times, I would just throw up my hands in acceptance that I would not ever be able to figure out all of his reasoning."

"But then aren't all of us that way? Your Monsieur DuPuis' oddities are simply more numerous and evident than most."

I got up from the sofa, the letter clenched in my right hand and walked aimlessly around the parlour before coming to rest at the front window.

"Christine or no Christine, if your theory is correct and she's left, he's got another thing coming if Erik believes he can come for me and I'll melt into his arms and forgive him for his infractions of the heart. I love Erik, but I will _not_ be his second choice, his consolation bride. There's no way in hell, Mary Ann."

I looked over at her, my eyes hard with determination. My hands fisted so tight that when I opened my palms, I saw red half moons indented into the flesh from my fingernails.

Mary Anne rose from her chair and crossed over to the window. She laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Gabrielle, you know that you have the support of many should you chose to stay here and forge your own life. Where many women succumb to the need for a man's support to survive, you will not have that burden."

I smiled at her kindness and took hold of her hands. "Thank you. I am so fortunate to have you, Barbara, George, and everyone's support. I do think it wise for you and George to stay away from Scalands cottage for a while, at least a month."

She tilted her head and started to speak, but I held up a hand to stop her.

"No, listen to me. Erik will come looking for me at your doorstep. When he inquires of my whereabouts, I want you to be able to say that yes, I stayed with you, but you have not seen me in weeks and last you heard I was talking about going to America. This way you won't have to lie for my sake."

Mary Ann pursed her lips. She was thinking about what I'd proposed.

"Very well, Gabrielle, if you believe it is best. I shall send George to check on you one day past a month from today. And you must agree to allow Dr. Garret to pay you weekly visits as well."

"Makes sense to me. If you receive more letters for me, place them in a separate envelope and forward them to Monsieur D. Harry; agreed?"

"Agreed dear."

Mary Ann spent the night with me. We talked of men, art, writing, of our childhoods (mine a very loose variation of the truth), and the ridiculous laws banning a woman's right to vote. I felt bad that I knew it would be another forty years before women would have the right to choose the government of the very country in which they lived. Mary Ann and many of her sisters in the suffragette movement would not live to take advantage of this basic right.

In bed that evening, I fought to push away Erik's ghost and all of the what-if's brought about by Madame Roux's letter.

Something didn't measure up. Why hadn't Marie made mention of the Wedding; was she sparing my feelings by tip-toeing around the issue? Marie rarely minced words with anyone. Maybe Erik hadn't married Christine after all, maybe he changed his mind, maybe…oh hell no Gab, if he loved you above the Comtess, he would have destroyed that stupid shrine to the goddess of feminine mediocrity.

I ran my hand over the swell of my new baby-bump. Tears pooled in my eyes when I whispered in the dark to my baby; _Right here beneath my hand, within me you live, a life created in love. Oh little one I love you already and I will always love your father--and now, you're all that I have left of him._

What a cruel arrangement for our child to be born of a broken home. This was something more akin to my former life in 2006, not 1877. Not that I would keep Erik from his very own flesh. How could I be so callous? I would wait until the child was old enough to comprehend that life isn't always perfect and sometimes mother's and father's must live apart.

Fear was another reason I harbored caution over allowing Erik access to our child. Suppose he and Christine made an attempt to take the child from me to raise? Society would accept them over me, after all, they were a properly wed couple and I was well, a single woman!

No, Erik had mishandled my heart, he'd taken it and crushed it—I would not allow him to take my child too!

- 0 -

**_Do we smell and Erik alert?_ : )**

**_Thank you immensely for your reviews. It's cool to hear from new readers and you sneaky lurkers too (don't kill me for the cliffies!) Your reviews have helped me in so many ways since this is my first piece of fiction. Read on!_**

**_-Leesa_**


	68. Ch 68 Dec 1877

**_I am blessed to have passionate and opinionated readers, that's what an author truly wants. Thank you for the reviews. Thanks to Xeven for catching an inconsistency in the timeline, yes, I mistakenly had Gab say she was from 2006, when it should have been 2005 (oops). _**

**_Chapter 68 December 1877_**

Christmas passes in watercolor sheets of red, green and gray. Those around me make merry, drink, dance, exchange greetings and gifts. I turn on a counterfeit smile and turn off my memories of Christmas' past. Their joy is no longer appropriate or welcome.

Although I've been at Scalands cottage a mere month and one half, the days seem to double in length. By my recollections, I am around five months pregnant, having missed my first cycle in late August.

I'm eating as healthy as possible, nuts, grains for folic acid, squash, and stewed tomatoes for the beta-carotene and C. Not a beef lover, I still manage to choke down calves' liver for the protein. I feel good and I am, as the Victorian's say, _increasing_.

Barbara scrounged up a sewing machine so I can sew my own maternity clothes; (shops selling such goods are scarce in 1877!) that's okay because I don't require much.I rarely leave the cottage; mostly I hang around the cottage reading and writing, sewing and stewing about Erik 

The S.O.B., I cannot crowd him from my brain no matter _how_ much activity I throw into it for distraction.

Mornings are my worst challenge. I awake warm and toasty in my bed and imagine that the huge down pillow beside me is Erik. Just the three of us there beneath the mountain of cozy quilts, canoodling. Then reality pecks at my head like chickens in a barnyard full of choice corn and Erik becomes a mere pillow again.

Ah yes, dear Erik: He's become the ever-present dull ache in my heart. How I hate him for allowing me to latch onto him so—can't say he didn't warn me about his improprieties. I figured he referred to his Phantom past, not his romantic sensibilities. So kind and solicitous of my every wish, baring his soul and his face to me, lavishing gifts on me, loving me as I'd never before been loved. 

And here, I think myself so wise and worldly. I must remember that I knew little about men in my future past life and nothing of those in my present one.

God help me—I miss Erik terribly, and I will always love him, a thought that has cost me the polar ice cap worth of frozen tears, but Love lives inside of me—my solitary remedy for despair.

I mold my arms around my girth, cup my hands beneath the swell, and cradle the child within. Warmth spreads through me from this center. In my hands, I detect movement. My eyes remain closed to the sobering light and I burrow deeper beneath the handmade quilts and coo to our child before drifting off once more into my warm, dark world of shadows and dreams. Nothing can harm us here, nestled deep within this 17th century woodland cottage. Nothing, as long as I stay within my cocoon.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII 

_Geez Louise, stop banging on the door_.

I crack my eyes at the clock beside the bed; 1:30 in the afternoon. The banging does not stop and I hear Bastion's voice from the other side of the door inquiring if Madame is presentable?

_Presentable hell, I'm not even lucid._

The man will not go away so I holler back at him, asking what he wants.

"Madame Barbara is has come to call, will you be receiving guests today, Madame?"

"Merdé," I grumble. "Sure…I mean certainly Bastion, give me ten minutes and please serve her hot tea and scones if we have any," I say.

"Already served, Madame."

Dear Bastion, always the efficient butler.

I tumble from the bed and throw a bulky dressing gown over my ever-blooming frame, drag a brush through the nest growing from my head, splash my face and make a visit to the WC.

Eight minutes later, I'm padding down the hall in my slippers to make conversation with a new friend. I'd rather pluck my eyebrows than have to think or talk right now.

Barbara sits properly upright in the paisley chair everyone seems to fancy. She puts down her dainty teacup and rises to embrace me when I enter the parlour.

"Oh, did I wake you from your nap, Gabrielle? Beg my pardon if I have, dear."

_Nap? Ha, if she only knew_.

I plop into the deeply cushioned sofa and reach for a cup of tea. I remember friends back in Chicago going on and on about the great number of things their doctor's had discouraged them from imbibing in, coffee being one of those things that the jury wasn't out on yet. Well, by golly I allow myself few vices, one or two cups of tea in the morning were not going to stunt little Erik or Erika's growth. 

She scrutinized me and an amusing smile cast itself across her lips.

"My, my dear, how you've increased—what are you now, six months along?"

"Five." No humor colors my reply."I see," she laughs. "Good for you! You are surely blessed with a healthy child, Gabrielle."

This time I smile at her. "I keep praying for such. Whatever brings your esteemed self out to Hastings, Barbara? I thought you and Eugene were vacationing in Indonesia?"

"We were, but my dear, dear sister is ill and I thought it best to return so she could have someone at her bedside beside servants and doctors you know. Her husband passed last year and she has no one else but me."

"Oh my, I do hope it's not serious?"

"I don't believe so, just a case of the fever. I looked in on her before departing for the train early this morning and her temperature had slipped down a bit, which is wonderful news." 

I nod yes, for it is fevers which kill so many of this day and age. They don't quite have the antibody thing down yet.

"Has Bastion been seeing to your needs? Do tell me if he's been lacking and I shall have a word with the man. By the way, how are you faring, dearest?"

I laughed. "Your Bastion is droll but beyond efficient and I feel fine so far, just bored. No offense to your beautiful Scalands, but I'll bet that spring is her shining season."

"And how, winter here is barren, where spring is lush and full. And that is why I have come, to spirit you away for a bit of fun, if you're up for it that is." 

Barbara smoothed her hand over the cuff of her brocade jacket and grinned at me.

"Oh good gravy, what have you planned?" I tossed down the tea in my cup and reached to pour a second one. Tiny cups meant I could have two servings.

"You know what a character of a man my Eugene is."

"So I've heard."

"Two nights past we, along with Mary Ann and George, were sitting around the fire chasing the chill with sherry and cognac when out of thin air Eugene plucked a brilliant idea. We should go to the opera. Mozart's splendid _The Magic Flute_ is to appear at the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden next weekend!" She smacked her hands together and smiled at me.

"Opera, you want _me_ to join you at the opera? Let's see now, I'm pregnant and in exile because of one of opera's favorite sons? Oh yes, Barbara, it makes perfect sense to parade me in front of a highbrow theatre crowd. You either thrive on scandal or you wish to be rid of me."

"Pish tosh, I eat scandal for breakfast, Gabrielle."

"Indeed you do dear, but what if Erik attends? He already suspects that I am in London."

"You needn't worry, Gabrielle; just listen to this delicious plan Eugene has cooked up for you to attend the evening with us."

I tucked my feet beneath me and balanced the china cup on my knee. "Okay, I'm listening."

"Eugene had an Uncle Bernard—a short and stout fellow, he's passed on, God bless him, and many of his belongings are packed in the mothballs at his widow's home. She's been begging us to relieve her of them. Eugene can fetch some things and we'll puff you up with padding, where you don't already have some that is." She eyed my bulging belly with a knowing smile. "After which all you will require is a top hat, cane, beard and wig and voila! You will be a portly gentleman duping every one of those boorish socialites in attendance.

"Isn't that jolly?" Delighted with her clever plan, she plucked an apple scone from the assortment on the tea tray and popped a sizeable piece of the pastry in her mouth and began to chew with relish.

"You've gone daft, all of you," I said.

"Didn't you tell us of your Parisian romp as escort to the Roux's daughter, Caron? Such a rich anecdote—it worked once, it can work again."

"I don't know…."

"You cannot tell me that a woman of your energy and intellect is not bored to death holed up in the dreary and cold winter woodlands of Hastings. Please Gabrielle, won't you say yes? George, Eugene, Mary Ann and I will be with you, you know."

"All right, the answer is yes, Barbara, and may the good Lord help every one of us."

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And so, on December seventh, 1877 the five of us embarked on a joyously mad outing to the Opera at Covent Garden.

I felt as though I should be singing _Putting on the Ritz_ as our small party strolled along the corridor to box three. This being the second time in a year that I'd undertaken a gender-bending charade, I began to wonder if I didn't have an unacknowledged penchant for cross-dressing.

I felt both ridiculous and giddy. Ensconced in box three of the Royal Opera House, decked to the nines as a man, I looked every bit the pompous opera aficionado of old. A sight to behold, wrapped in dress tails large enough to fit two men. Using my baby bump as a foundation, Mary Ann had stuffed in cotton batting as padding, added a mustache and beard, a top hat and the pièce de résistance, a black lacquered walking cane, adorned with a brass duck's head as a handle, the perfect accessory for a she-male so puffed up that she must waddle rather than walk.

While we sat in the cushy box chatting, George pointed out the more exalted members of the audience tucked around us. He informed me of who was wealthy by birth or by sweat, a virtue of which he approved.

"Look over there, dear, orchestra right. Isn't that Viscount Helmsmen?"

Barbara craned her neck to see across my protrusion.

"Indeed, that would be one of my most ardent nemeses," she said, unflappable mirth evident on her face.

"What's his problem?" I whispered.

"Women are his problem. As a member of the parliament, he campaigns tirelessly against a woman's right to vote."

"What in the hell for? Does he fear the entire sex may vote against his arrogant arse?" A keen student of women's studies, I had my suspicions.

"Allow me to quote the Viscount from the last time the question of a women's right to vote was brought before Parliament, _'The mental equilibrium of the female sex is not as stable as that of the_ _male sex. The argument has strong scientific backing…' _

"People really do believe that crap don't they--that biological differences such as physical strength also make a person mentally superior?" I still could not fathom that which I knew to be the truth.

"One would think that birthing and raising children would automatically exclude a woman from the ranks of inferiority," Mary Ann reasoned.

"Or a notch or two up the tree at the very least," added Eugene, his English laced with lilting French.

"His clever pontifications to Parliament on feminine pulchritude don't end there, either. The Viscount stated with considerable bluster the fundamental truths of life. Just listen to this..." Barbara continued to quote the Viscount.

_'…truths on which all civilizations have been built up, that it is men who have made and controlled the State, and I cannot help thinking that any country which departs from that principle must be undertaking an experiment which will, in the end, prove to be exceedingly dangerous.'_

"What a stinkin' pile of monkey dung!" I said, and then glanced around to see if the other opera goers surveying the crowd noticed the man with the feminine voice who spewed obscenities.

Observing the Viscount with my opera glasses, I saw a fat balding man sporting a severe mustache and beard beneath an oversized nose reddened by too much gin. He entertained another man in his box while ignoring the docile woman who sat a half a chair behind him.

"Egads, he's quite ugly, too. The only way that man could possible procure companionship is by title and money, and since most women need to survive, his station makes him a suitable catch."

My bon mot had them all laughing.

A fellow in full dress stepped from behind the curtain. By the way the crowd hushed without prompting, I assumed he must be of some importance, poised to welcome all to the opera's opening night or pass out lofty kudos to attending dignitaries. Instead, he informed us of a significant change in tonight's program.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I regret that our Madame Goddard was called away on personal business; the role of the Queen of the Night will hereby be played by a noble and talented soprano long missing from the world of opera, Her Grace, Comtess Daaé de Chagny.

In that moment, every hand in the opera house erupted into applause; the exception being those belonging to my friends, whose four sets of eyes were now trained on me. I simply stared at the stage before me with all the emotion of a zombie.

_Would I never be free of this woman?_

Mary Ann's long fingers curled around my arm. "Dearest, would you care to partake of a bit of fresh air?"

"Just get me out of this auditorium, now!" 

What I wanted, I wasn't altogether sure; I just knew that I had to get out of there before that woman appeared on the stage.

Mary Ann whispered her intent to George, who wore a concerned frown. She clasped her opera cape about her neck and ushered me past the box's velvet curtain, through the lobby and out into the cool English evening.

Our breaths puffed around us in frosty clouds as we walked slowly down the steps of the Royal Opera house.

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my borrowed woolen cloak.

"Do you mind if we walk a little, Mary Ann? I'm feeling restless."

"'Course, dearest. I cannot count the times I have attended _The Magic Flute_, a novelty though it is, I fear I shant miss much. Regardless of how sublime the new soprano's voice is, I have absolutely no desire to bring my hands together in applause for the likes of her!"

"Thank you, Mary Ann. You are a dear and faithful friend," I smiled wearily. "Do you think there may be a chance that _he's_ here?"

"He, as in Monsieur DuPuis, I assume? I could not say, but it is doubtful he would recognize you…monsieur." She shot me an amused glance.

I snorted. "One would imagine, but then you don't know Erik."

- 0 -

**_The plot thickens…_**

**_Such funny and interesting reviews, I don't mind criticism as long as it's not a flame, which serves no real purpose. (The dee, dee, dee, Mencia reference was priceless; he's a most disturbed man). Giant props to Barb, Kay and Amy for pre-reading and doing the beta thing-I'd be horribly lost without you!_**

_**-Leesa**_


	69. Chapter 69 Diva’s and Disguises

**_Dear readers, reviewers and lurkers, I am truly amazed that you still hang with me after all the chapters and cliffies. Thank you. Coming soon, Erik DuPuis' view of his adventures with the lovely and lively Gabrielle. _**

—_**Leesainthesky**_

**Chapter 69 Diva's and Disguises**

Erik was a master of deception and would see through my clever disguise. The thought made me shudder.

Only once had his anger caused intense fear to rise in me. The first time I had employed the disguise of a man, when Caron and I went to Paris for our grand adventure.

I would never forget the feel of the Punjab lasso's noose tightening around my neck. At the time, I didn't know his intent was only to subdue me.

And I'd witnessed his wrath aimed at others, too. I knew what Erik was capable of when pushed, although I didn't believe that man still existed, one never knew.

From Madame Roux's recent letter, it sounded like he was highly pissed off at me.

Humph! _He_ was the one who delayed our nuptials so he could analyze his feelings for Christine Daaé. Married or not, Erik had betrayed my trust and without trust, love becomes a labyrinth of suspicion

Mary Ann and I strolled around the populated avenue, which ran in front of the Royal Opera House.

Manholes smoked as the subterranean gas hit the cold night air. I shoved my hands into the deep pockets of my voluminous cloak.

"I've always found the simple act of talking to a friend an excellent way of exercising demons," Mary Ann spoke softly as she addressed me.

"What could I say to you that I haven't already? I'm pregnant, alone and living in the nineteenth century," I answered.

"Rest assured that the day will come when women will not have to depend upon a man's provisions to thrive. We've come too far and we will not cease to press on for our cause. We will have our rights. Mark my word, dear."

I nodded, relieved that Mary Ann hadn't caught my slip; she thought I meant living in the nineteenth century was another burden, which all women must bear, not just those from the future.

She pulled the hood of her eggplant purple cloak tighter around her neck to keep the wind at bay.

"The weather's turning on us; let's get back to the Opera House where it's warm," I said.

When we returned to the opera house, several couples milled about the entrance, a sign that first act was over.

"It must be the intermission. I do hope the men thought to order champagne from our attendant, but then you probably do not wish to return do you, dear?" Mary Ann frowned.

I didn't know what I wished for at the moment. I hated to miss the opera; I adored anything by Mozart.

"That wench has ruined a great deal of my fun as of late, I may as well hear the voice that can captivate men with a mere song. Do you think the management would toss me out on my bottom if I stood up and booed while she sang?" I grinned beneath my mustache. 

Mary Ann shot me a fearful look before she realized I wasn't serious.

"If you decide to put your good reputation to shame, Monsieur, you should do better than a simple jeer. Rumor has it that Comtess is quite sensitive about any mention of that odd _Don Juan Triumphant, _the opera the Phantom of the Paris Opera House allegedly wrote for her all those years ago. Perhaps you could request a selection from it?" 

I snorted loudly at Mary Ann's suggestion. "Madame, you do have a wicked sense of humor beneath that cool veneer of breeding and intellect, don't you."

All I received was a wink.

Glad to be back in the arms of the opera's warm, opulent lobby, we advanced to the stairs leading to the first tier boxes. The lobby buzzed with the voices of women admiring one another's lavish costumes and men deep in conversation about gambling, horses, women and other manly pursuits.

"Thank you, Mary Ann, for allowing me to take you away from your entertainment this evening. I hope George doesn't mind terribly." I said.

"My dear George is too enraptured with the opera to notice anything else, and goodness knows I've seen Mozart before and will have ample opportunities to see enjoy his works again. I would never abandon a dear friend in her time of need." She dipped her head and smiled.

We moved through the tangle of well-heeled music lovers and social butterflies flitting about the lobby, eyeing one another and making their social contacts.

"My word, what do you suppose is drawing all those people over there?"

Mary Ann indicated a sizable group crowding around some person or thing of interest in a corner of the lobby. Curious as to what the fuss was about, we gravitated toward gathering. There stood a small dark-haired woman, lavishly dressed in aqua silk, holding court. Her back was to us, but by the movement of her shoulders, I could tell she was occupied with greeting her admirers.

"She must be someone special to attract the attention of this bunch," I commented.

Before Mary Ann answered, the woman made a graceful turn toward us. Our eyes locked momentarily and I swore I saw recognition flash in her brown eyes.

Unable to make her memory agree with what she saw, Christine frowned and then turned her attention to a vocal admirer, intent on meeting the titled celebrity.

Mary Ann stood at by my side, taking in the small circus before her. "My word, she does a myriad of devotees doesn't she. That man there, the big fellow with the wide-brimmed hat, he looks too foreboding to be her beau. Do you think she requires a protector?" she asked.

"Only from me," I whispered.

The man in question stood a few respectful steps behind Christine. He crossed his arms and observed the crowd with practiced wariness.

"I'd say that the Comtess rather fancies intimidating men. Remember, Mary Ann, there stands the woman who lured my fiancée away, and Erik is certainly not a wilting weed of a man. But that fellow's stance is more protective than proprietary."

I watched a moment longer as another ardent admirer brushed a chaste kiss on Christine's left hand. I looked for the flash of a shining new wedding ring, but saw none.

Interesting.

"Mary Ann, if she was engaged or married there would a ring wouldn't there? I mean, even though she is performing this evening, Christine would not remove such an intimate piece of jewelry, would she?" I chewed at the corner of my wispy mustache.

"One would think a woman of her station would be allowed the slightest courtesy," Mary Ann replied.

She grabbed my arm with a squeeze. "Could this mean that she and Monsieur DuPuis are not a couple?"

"Perhaps, but it's of no consequence, I am still very angry and hurt by Erik's actions."

"And righteously so."

I couldn't help myself, I continued to stare. The more I watched the petite brunette smile, curtsey and enchant her fans, the more aware I was that my insides were churning.

I felt ill.

"You know, I think it is highly indecorous the way those people are swarming around her like flies to rotten fruit," quipped Mary Ann.

I snorted my agreement of Mary Ann's assessment of the scene before us. "I suppose they can't help themselves. Christine is a stunning woman, with those sable curls, silky completion, velvet brown eyes and rosy lips. She possesses the social graces of a gentlewoman and the voice of an angel, what's not to like? I guess I was fool to believe I could compete with her."

"Complete rubbish! She's much too simple minded for Erik's intellect. I've only met Monsieur DuPuis twice, but he strikes me as a man who celebrates a keen intellect as much as musical talent. People are capable having a mutual appreciation for music without both of them being able to sing or play an instrument well, but ah, when it comes to the mind; one cannot share an appreciation for intelligence without recognizing it, and to recognize intellect, one must have the capacity for it, my dear. You and Erik shared such a connection, not to mention a deep-seated love for natural beauty."

"Yeah, well, if we are such a keen match, why aren't we together now?"

"Because, my dear, he's a bloody fool!"

I linked arms with my friend. "I do love you, Mary Ann."

Behind us bells rang, the sign that intermission was over and it was time to return to our seats for the next act.

We approached the corridor leading to the first tier boxes. I paused and faced Mary Ann.

"I've changed my mind. I've had my fill of opera tonight and I'd like to retire for the evening, if you've no objections."

Mary Ann adjusted the clasp on her diamond necklace then gave me a look worthy of a concerned mother.

"If you are you sure, dear."

"I'm sure."

"Have our carriage brought around for your trip to the Bodichon's town house, the driver can return in time to fetch us after the opera is finished. I'll not have you standing alone in the evening chill trying to hail a cab."

"Tell the others, won't you?"

"I shall. Have no worries; they'll more than understand your departure. And if I do see DuPuis, I shall be sure to give him a good swift kick in the arse for you."

"For that I thank you, Madame," I laughed, and gave her kiss on the cheek. She touched the spot where the whiskers of my faux facial hair tickled her skin.

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Barbara and Eugene Bodichon lived close to the theatre district of London's Covent Garden, in a stylish and large townhouse decorated with artifacts from their many travels.

Convincing the butler to allow me entrance to the Bodichon's home took some verbal maneuvering; earlier, when we'd left for Mary Ann and George Lewe's town home, I was dressed as a woman.

The vigilant servant finally came around and realized who I was. He assumed we must have attended a masquerade rather than the opera. I let him believe whatever he wished; all I desired was for the chambermaid to draw me a steamy tub filled with fragrant and relaxing bath oils where I could steep my body until my digits shriveled into little prune-sticks. 

Afterwards, I donned a flannel nightgown and slipped beneath the covers with pen and paper in hand.

There, in the pale lamplight, I surveyed my surroundings. The Bodichon's guest room was opulent. Mint-green and safflower, with gold accents, an ornate, full-length mirror and a crystal chandelier adorned with gold leaf pulled it all together. On a round table sat a large crystal vase filled with dozens of white and yellow roses.

Yellow roses…just like the ones Erik had given me during our shopping trip to London last year. He'd enchanted me by placing them in our suite. Yellow for friendship and for promise, I remembered.

The only thing those fragrant beauties reminded me of now was what I had lost.

I breathed a heavy sigh and dipped the pen's nib in the India, and began my return correspondence to Madame Roux.

I wished Marie and her family well and thanked her for her concern. I assured her that I was well, in the care of an excellent doctor and increasing on schedule.

I requested that she please inform Monsieur DuPuis of my well being and to tell him that, in time, I would grant him access to our child as long as he agreed to leave me alone to live my new life.

Even though I'd discovered that he and Christine may not be together after all, I would not be returning to the Manor house anytime soon, as I was loath to subject my person to his duplicity. I would be in touch from time to time.

I would hand over the letter to Barbara, who would forward it to a friend in Brussels, who would then reseal the letter within a new envelope which would then be stamped with a Brussels postmark. It would be tough for even the Monsieur DuPuis to unearth my hideout through the mail.

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On the train ride back to Hastings, I had time to ponder forgotten details of the past few months. I thought of Nadir and my request of him to dig up information on that creepy Monsieur Vincenzo.

I wished I could find out what Nadir had discovered about the sneaky little Italian. Oh, I dared not contact Nadir; his being Erik's dear friend would mean instant discovery, though I supposed I could send him a letter via the Brussels route.

In the vein of Scarlet O'Hara, I'd think about it tomorrow.

I tried to work on an article, but writing with pen and ink while riding on primitive train tracks was not advisable. I could end up wearing an entire bottle of India ink on the skirts of my camel dress.

Giving up on writing for the moment, I leaned my head against the train car window and watched a light snow litter the barren English countryside. A small pool of steam collected where my breath hit the cold glassy surface.

I closed my eyes and last night returned to the theatre of my mind. Once again, Christine had screwed up another rare opportunity to enjoy the nineteenth century. 

First, she threw marbles under the feet of my relationship with Erik, and now a simple night out with friends. Didn't the Leroux book I'd read say that she and Raoul disappeared into the North Country never to be heard from again? That's the trouble with artistic license; it can be hard to tell fact from fiction.

I sure wished the Comtess would get tangled up in her own personal time-tear. Three centuries wouldn't be far enough away for me.

_Please_, I screamed internally, _stop thinking about Christine—anything at all but her! _

Right-o, but what about? Gabrielle? How about another way of having some fun in this buttoned up century, something where no singing Comtess might make a guest appearance.

I had a wild thought; have all my new woman friends over for a weekend at Scalands cottage. Just the girl—the fun ones, not the blue noses. We could have a slumber party! Imagine, George Eliot, Barbara Bodichon and Elizabeth Garrett all sitting around a fire, drinking wine and brandy and playing Truth or Dare. I squealed and bounced up and down in my seat. 

Everyone in the train car turned to stare at the lone pregnant woman making a spectacle out of herself. 

The time was well past midnight when my carriage pulled up to the back entrance of Scalands cottage. Bastion, the all purpose butler and chauffer, helped me from the carriage and insisted I leave my luggage inside the door for him to carry up to my room. "A woman in your condition should not be laboring, Madame," he said.

Weary to the bone, I allowed the man to employ his chosen occupation.

Ah, nothing could ever feel as wonderful as sleeping beneath layers of fine sheets topped with a goose down comforter. The smell of hickory smoke tickled my nose, and I realized that hot coals still smoldered in the hearth.

I'd not taken care to close the curtains in my bedchamber last night and now a brilliant light glowed in the room. Only snow could produce such a reflective light.

As I pushed back the covers, I vowed that today would be a good day for Gabrielle. I would prepare a light breakfast, finish some writing, and bake a few dozen cookies, one dozen of which I would take to my neighbor, the widow Lauder.

She kept me entertained on many an afternoon with her colorful tales of the travels she and her husband, Hugh, used to take across the continent. Both lonely 'widow' women, we enjoyed one another's company.

After my toilet, I trotted down the stairs. On the hall table laid the morning mail. The snow must not be very deep if Bastion has already been to town and back.

I moved aside the sheer curtain covering a narrow window by the door. The sun glistened brightly on the two or three inches of snow that we'd received in the night, enough to be pretty but not treacherous. 

I turned back to the mail. There was a letter for me. I remembered Mary Ann telling me last night that another one had arrived from France and that she had forwarded it a few days ago. _Madame Roux must have more to scold me about_, I thought dryly.

_Well, good then. I like letters ever if they are full of appeals and admonishments for my unscrupulous deeds_! I made my way to the kitchen, using my finger as a letter opener.

Extracting the original envelope from the one Mary Ann had forwarded it to me in; I saw not Madame Roux's practiced penmanship but the sweeping loops of Erik's dramatic hand. 

**- 0 –**

**_I shall attempt to update soon. Life has been busy and I've not been able to write as often as I'd like._**

**_A big whooping thank you goes out to my beta's Amy and Barb and Kay for her pre-reads, the poor women had their work cut out for them with this chapter since I wrote it at 3:00am (there were lots of typos)._**

_**Please review,**_

—**_Leesa_**


	70. Ch 70 Greetings from Paris

**_All right my darlings; here is the next chapter with, as you requested, more from our lovely and twisted genius, Erik. : D_**

**_Please thank my betas', Amy and Barb, for the quick turnaround._**

**-Leesa**

**Chapter 70 Greetings from Paris**

The scarlet seal affixed to the envelope belonged to Erik.

My heart palpitated with both excitement and trepidation when I broke the wax and unfolded the elegant paper.

This was the first communication I'd had with my former fiancé since leaving DuPuis Manor nearly three months ago.

I curled up on my usual spot on the parlour sofa and began to read;

_Fondest greetings my dear Gabrielle,_

_  
I do hope my letter reaches your hands wherever you may be and that it finds you are well._

I must say, _my darling, that upon my return from Paris, I was enraged and dismayed to find that you had left me._

For what unfathomable reason did you feel the need to flee from my loving embrace?

Did I not treat you well? Perhaps the thought of ending your days with a man as ugly as I am repulsed you.

But ah, I think it is the matter of the Comtess de Chagny that causes your discomfort.

It was indeed most indelicate of me to flaunt my past romantic affair in front of you. What woman would appreciate having her wedding date moved back so her fiancé could unravel his emotions?

You see, I have never needed nor cared to concern myself with the feelings of others until I met you. Madame Roux and her sister Madame Giry have already taken me to task for being so boorish.

Your sadness is understandable; your abandonment of me is not.

Madame Roux also found it prudent to alert me of your delicate condition. So you are alone and with child, my child, unless, dare I say it; you've already rid yourself of my monster seed.

But then you are not so callous a woman, _are you Gabrielle? I do wonder though; were you planning on informing me of the blessed event or were you bent on punishing me by denying me my rights as a father? The longer you deny me, the harsher **your** punishment will be._

And what, pray tell, is this ridiculous nonsense about my running off to wed Christine?

My darling, have the changes in your chemistry brought about by your condition addled your brain? 

_  
Good heavens, did I not pledge my troth to you mere hours before departing to Paris?_

As the letter I sent via special delivery stated, it was urgent business that called me away to Venice, not a wedding to the Comtess de Chagny. I dare say the poor femme-fille was extremely heartbroken by my refusal to romance her.

_  
C'est la vie eh?_

You have been very, very naughty, _Gabrielle,_ _and I will not tolerate your latest misadventure. You no longer belong to the twenty-first century,_ _my dear, you belong to my time; you belong to me. It is your fate._

Be certain that I will find you and when I do, you **will** return with me to DuPuis Manor, you **will** become my wife and you **will** bear me a child, for I **will not** allow a woman to betray me twice in one lifetime! 

_  
I think it infinitely wiser_ _for you to return to me,_ _post haste, on the next train or carriage. If you force me to flush you out of the English countryside, or wherever you are cowering, the experience will not be so pleasant for you._

The ball, as you are fond of saying, is in your court.

Your obedient servant and loving fiancé,

Erik

  
Stunned, I allowed the note slip from my grasp. I watched it flutter down and come to rest at the foot of the hearth.

All along, I imagined Erik as the villain and me, the spurned lover. I still wasn't fond of his little flirtation with that woman, but, they hadn't married. 

And what letter was he speaking of? The only special delivery letter I received from Paris was the one detailing his intent to travel to Venice for the purpose of marrying the Comtess, not for business.

I noticed my breathing had become shallow, I was lightheaded and dizzy.

_Lay down, Gab, take some deep cleansing breathes_, I told myself.

_Yes, one, two, three, four, good_.

I glanced down at the parchment by the hearth and was horrified to see a smear of blood across Erik's salutation.

_Egads, how macabre of him!_ Then I noticed that my thumb was bleeding; evidently, I'd been chewing on my cuticle while I read the letter.

I heard Erik's rich voice in my mind, _See there_, _Gabrielle; things are not always as they seem on the surface.  
_  
Was Erik's letter rife with manipulations or sincerity? He would stop at nothing to have his way and I had no doubt that he would hunt me down.

I could reconcile many of the facts before me. Erik had proclaimed his love for me before leaving for Paris. In his current correspondence, he apologized for his insensitivity. From what I gleaned from Christine's appearance at the Opera, he really hadn't married her after all

Okay, but what about the letter I _did_ receive at the manor this past fall? That special delivery said nothing about going to Venice for business, his words were quite clear; he intended to marry Christine and had asked me to vacate the manor house.

Could the letter have been a fraud? I did not think that typewriting it was too terribly odd; Erik would have used the machine if one were at his disposal, and it made perfect sense that he would use an impersonal means for an impersonal message. And the letter _did_ have his personal seal and his signature on it.

If it was a fraud, shouldn't I be overjoyed? Shouldn't I run into Erik's arms asking for forgiveness? Then we would be married and live happily ever after in our manor in the French countryside.

Merdé, Gabrielle, you materialized into another century, not a Walt Disney fairy tale.

Erik often confided in me of how difficult it was for him to trust people, and how hard it was for him to believe that I could love him after what had happened during the first go round with Christine.

I more than understood his reluctance; my own former fiancé, Tony, had betrayed me twice. If once bitten made you twice shy, then what did three times bitten make you; stupid? (

Timid, even if I did go flying back to Erik, my heart would still be tender from the wounds inflicted by his insensitivity.

What a freaking mess. The bits and pieces of conflicting thoughts and information orbited around my head like shrapnel.

One thing was for sure, if I didn't sort through this thicket of details and emotions, my weakening sanity would come completely unzipped.

I needed time and I knew Erik was already hot on my trail.

Finding me in Hastings would not be all that easy, even for that bloodhound of a man, yet it was imperative that I get a message to Mary Ann and inform her of Erik's intentions(,) and the safest route was through Barbara.

Mary Ann would have to prepare for his intense inquisition. She was a pragmatic and fearless woman and she would not be alone with Erik, either; she had her husband George.

I penned a hasty note to Mary Ann detailing the latest news from Paris. I also included my idea for a sleep-over, a novel way for like-minded women to gather for merriment and pursuits of an intellectual nature. I reasoned that, surrounded by my many supporters, I would be better protected against any unwanted visitors.

I prepared the letter to go out with the next day's post. How I missed phones and the internet for quick communication. A reply would not make it back to me until the end of the week at the soonest. Until then, I would visit my neighbor for tea, stew over Erik, and go to the market to purchase material for sewing baby clothes, a few larger articles for my growing girth and flannel PJ's for my impending guests.

Even if the slumber party didn't materialize, I knew my progressive friends would appreciate comfortable and functional clothing for sleeping or lounging in. 

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_January 28, 1878_

Dearest Gabrielle,

Thank you for keeping me abreast of your correspondence from Paris.

I fear Monsieur DuPuis is adamant in his pursuit of you. Trust that you have the complete backing of George and I, Barbara and Eugene, Doctor Garrett and the rest of our circle.

There are at least five of us who welcome your generous invitation to stay at Scalands cottage for a winter reprieve. Please expect us on the morning of your suggested date, February 11th. We, all of us, look forward to this joyous trip and plan to bring with us a number of delectable treats and games _with which to delight you._

And oh, _do we have a clever plan for the purpose of throwing Monsieur off of our trail should he be nosing about!_

Barbara _and I will go to Dr. Garrett's home two days prior to_ _leaving for Hastings. There we will stay until the morning of our departure. We've plans to board the carriage from the carriage house so as not to be seen by anyone on the street._

The driver will receive instructions to stop at the front entrance for Dr. Garrett, who will leave with her medicine bag in hand. From there we shall travel to the train station where she will depart first. The driver will circle the block around the station, coming back to allow the remainder of us to board the train to Hastings. Thus, Dr. Garrett should not raise the suspicions of Monsieur DuPuis or his spies.

_Fondly, _

Marry Ann Evans

I laughed at the last part of her note; these women loved the cloak and dagger element of my life immensely.

Thank the good lord—here was some positive news for a change.

Playing safe but fun games from the future, eating myself silly with every goodie I could get my pregnant lips on(,) telling tales and picking the brains of these eloquent nineteenth century icons was going to be delicious.

And no chance whatsoever of an impromptu appearance from any wayward opera singers!

I had an enormous bit of shopping and preparation to do before February eleventh and I could not wait!

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**_For those who are worried that Erik won't be around for his child to be born, I don't want to give the story away, but let me just say this, I promise it will be interesting. Now review for me, please. Thank you._**

_**-Leesa**_


	71. Ch 71 Parlour Games

Chapter 71 Parlour Games

**Chapter 71 Parlour Games**

The women had taken the same train from London to Hastings, arriving en masse late in the afternoon.

Barbara brought along Bessie Rayner Parkes-Belloc, her closest friend and editor of _The Englishwoman's Review_, a weekly that she co-founded with Barbara. 

Bessie hailed from a family of political radicals. Her grandfather was a leading dissenter, her father a reforming politician. Madame Belloc proved to be a woman of not only extreme intellect but also a cutting sense of humor.

"Darling Gabrielle, finally we meet! Barbara has enlightened me of your situation. Hiding in the woods from a dark and brooding masked composer, sounds more like that dark romance novel from Augusta Evans Wilson than true life, which makes you infinitely more interesting." 

"Bessie, really now!" Barbara's eyebrows practically shot to her hairline.

"Oh, do forgive me for my rudeness, I cannot help but love a good drama," apologized Madame Belloc.

"Beware, lest you find your drama in print," Elizabeth's droll expression told me that no one's experiences were altogether safe from her writer friends.

"Where shall we place our belongings, Gabrielle?" asked Mary Ann, ignoring the good doctor's remark.

"Anywhere you like. For the next two days we will do what we please, wear what we please and say what we please. What is said in this cottage _stays_ in this cottage," I said.

"Oh, this is going to be jolly good fun!" Bessie exclaimed, and slapped her hands together.

"I have provided soft and comfortable down pallets for sleeping. Where I come from, we call this a 'slumber party.' Usually girls get together in a home, enjoy treats, drink hot cocoa or wine, tell stories and have fun. That is what we are going to do, be girls, grown up girls."

"Sleeping on the parlour floor? How novel," said Barbara with an air of cautious intrigue.

"No rules, no schedule, no worrying about decorum. Do you ladies think you are up for such debauchery?"

"And how!" said Mary Ann. "When do we start?" 

"Immediately!"

My guest stacked their belongings in neat piles around the parlour. This type of fun, being new to my guests, made the possibilities even more appealing.

Once the entire gang was gathered, I served tea, coffee and light refreshments. We chatted and relaxed. 

"It had come to my attention that since we shall be sleeping dormitory style, we'll need a suitable place to change and see to our toilette. Gabrielle, have you unusual accommodations for that too?" Mary Ann shot me a rare smirk.

"Have no fear, Madame, I've thought of every little thing. While the facilities are at your disposal, I have created something that will eliminate your need for the constant changing of clothing to suit both lounging and slumbering."

Raised eyebrows and 'oohs' and 'ahas' conveyed my good guests' curiosity. They must be wondering what the strange American was up to now.

"They're upstairs; I'll be back quick as a wink." I grinned and rushed off to retrieve the pajamas I had made for each of them. I'd left them on the bed, a neat stack of colorful and soft flannel loungewear in various sizes to fit each woman's unique figure. As I gathered them up, I heard Mary Ann's gentile voice behind me.

"Gabrielle, I need to speak with you a moment."

"Why yes, certainly. Come in.""I did not want the others to be alarmed, but what I have to tell you is a matter of urgency." She wrang her hands and glanced about the room, reminding me of those spy movies where people look for hidden microphones.

"What is it, Mary Ann?"

She closed the door before approaching me. "He is coming to London. He wishes to call on me."

" He, as in Erik?"

"To be sure."

I motioned for her to take a seat on the small settee while I sat on the edge of the bed and rested the flannels in my lap.

"Go on."

"I received his letter just yesterday. Monsieur DuPuis writes that he is aware of my loyal advocacy to you and of my supreme position to help further your career. It is only natural that you and I are in communication; therefore, he plans to call on me in the coming week. I do not fear him Gabrielle, and I will explain to him that, out of concern for my safety, you and I no longer see one another."

"But, Mary Ann, he knows you're the one who forwards letters to me, how will you explain yourself? You'd? Best not lie to him, such things unleash violent reactions in Erik." I warned.

She shrugged, "I'll tell him that I leave your mail in a box at the post office and you pick them up at will. We can obtain a blind box for you, so it is not a lie."

"We have become experts at vagueness, haven't we?"

"You deserve time to sort out your thoughts and feelings in order to make a wise decision, Gabrielle. Men are reluctant to offer women that most basic courtesy, even a man as liberal as your Erik."

_My Erik._ Hearing that phrase pricked my heart with melancholy longing.

"Yeppers, Erik wants what he wants when he wants it." I rose to my feet and brushed off the momentary pang of emotion.

"George will be close to home these next few weeks, won't he?" I asked.

"We have discussed the matter and he has agreed to be close at hand…and armed. George is an excellent swordsman. I've no fear of Monsieur DuPuis, dear."

"If you stay calm and rational, you'll have no problems with Erik. He's not one to harm women. And if anyone has the grace to hold herself in sticky situation, it's you Mary Ann."

"Absolutely…" she held her head up with pride, "…for I am the queen of restraint."

We giggled like girls as we made our way back down to the parlour where the rest of the ladies waited for their Gabrielle originals.

My esteemed guests reacted to their handmade gifts with curious delight and gratitude. Never before had the women come across garments that afforded such ease of movement and comfort.

For the majority of first evening, we gorged ourselves on my gourmet cuisine and chatted about the latest gossip. I plied my esteemed guests with good wine and brandy while I sipped on café au lait. By eight o'clock their tongues were plenty loosened. It was time for a rousing round of Truth or Dare.

"Before me sit the world's cream of the crop of brilliant, progressive women; tell me, Mesdames, who among you is anything if not brave?"

"Brave or crazy, perhaps," Bessie quipped.

"Indeed, remember the time we donned the Turkish ladies ridding habits and attempted entry to the stylish _Le Restaurant Fin?_

"We were nearly arrested, Bessie. When Eugene discovered our folly, all he could do was shake his head in amazement. Remember what he said to us?"

"I do believe it was something like, 'darlings, if you must risk imprisonment, please do so for a more noble purpose than your need to dine.'  
Peals of laughter rang from the parlour walls.

"See there, we have what it takes to play this new game that is all the rage in America. It's called Truth or Dare," I said.

"This should prove to be a rollicking good time." Normally mild-mannered, Mary Ann took me aback with her enthusiasm to play my revealing game.

"A cakewalk compared to what we women are subjected to daily by polite society's relentless efforts to discredit our accomplishments and intellect."

"Then I take it that you're all _game_ for the game?" I laughed at my horrible tongue in cheek reference.

Three heads nodded their agreement.

"This is how it works; everyone takes a turn asking a player 'truth' or dare.' If the queried player answers "Truth," then the questioning player asks a question of a personal nature of the queried player; otherwise, if the queried player answers "Dare," then the questioning player asks the queried player to do something, usually silly. Be creative," I smiled.

Three blank and anxious faces stared at me.

"Here, I'll go first, and then we'll go around the circle. Mary Ann, ask me 'truth or dare."

"Certainly, Gabrielle. Truth or dare?"

"Truth, now ask me something you've been dying to know."

"Hum, let's see now. Oh, yes, would you really return to America?"

"Okay, I'll choose to answer. Yes, if I could find a way to support myself while there. Your turn. Truth or dare, Mary Ann?"

"Truth."

"Name something that you wish you had never done." _ I could not believe my luck that fate was allowing me to question one of the greatest literary minds of all time.  
_  
"One thing I wish I'd never done is to allow the artist Mayall to paint that appalling portrait of me when I was younger. I vowed never to be copied again in any way as I am afraid of outward images lest they should corrupt the inward." 

Poor Mary Ann, never described as a handsome woman, portraiture in the mid to late 1800's was anything but flattering to even the most attractive of women.  
"Very good, now, Barbara, you're next."

She turned toward Bessie, who sat on her left, tucked her bare feet beneath her and address her best friend. "What will it be, a truth or dare, dear."

"A dare, I think."

"My, you do put me on the spot. Why don't you…stand and sing us an original improvised opera song!"

"My word, woman, you call yourself a friend?" said the middle-aged Madame Belloc. She rose to her feet, eyeing each one of us in turn and began to sing in a fractured soprano about lost love between a banty rooster and his beloved hen, Henrietta. Her squeaking had us, every one, holding our stomachs from laughter.

"Elizabeth, it is your turn. What is your pleasure, truth or dare?" said Bessie with a gleam in her eyes.

"Heavens, let me thing a moment. I am known for my boldness, truth."

"Tell me, doctor, what is your proudest moment as a woman?"

"Simple, giving birth to my children and receiving my medical degree from the Paris Medical School. Can you believe I was once denied admission to an anatomy class at Aberdeen because the instructor thought dissecting-rooms and anatomical theatres highly unbecoming for women? The professor imagined he was protecting fair ladies who shouldn't be brought into contact with such gruesome scenes. For this reason alone, he believed that ladies would make bad doctors at best.

"As if childbirth were not gruesome, far more so than dissecting a frog or a cricket," said Barbara, who stole a glance at me. "Oh dear, I don't mean to frighten you, Gabrielle, this is your first child after all."

I could not tell them that as a green news reporter, I had witnessed far more gruesome scenes than the miracle of birth.

"Think nothing of it. I'll be too busy grunting and screaming to watch."

"I should say! Can you imagine if men were allowed to witness their wives giving birth? They would surely pass out!" said Barbara. "Or if many could see themselves in the throes of passion. Crying out the Lord's name repeatedly while turning red, screwing up their faces before grunting one last satisfied grunt and collapsing on you in a crushing, sweaty heap." The rest of them burst into guffaws. Remembering Erik's impassioned and indefatigable lovemaking, I feigned my laughter.

By day two, everyone had let their hair down, literally and figuratively. We each baked our favorite sweet treat; talked about individual projects we each had in the works, and of our hopes for the future.

Mary Ann adored making and eating rich butter shortbread. Her work on the satirical _Impressions of Theophrastus Such_, kept her occupied as of late. Barbara created delectable pots du crème; both she and Bessie were eyebrow high in various writing projects, and with the newspaper. Dr. Garrett made the most heavenly chocolate Grenache. Her days were spent involved in work and research at both the college and the hospital, and Bessie was proud of her ability to prepare a bread pudding laced with Irish whiskey, which I decided I could have a bit of, liquor or not. Most of the women were dedicated mothers and spouses, the later at least in deed if not by law.

It was sometime in the young hours of Sunday morning when Mary Ann broached a question that I'd been, until now, masterful at sweeping under the rug. While Barbara and Elizabeth slept and read, quietly curled into a corner chair, we sat on the sofa where I was teaching her to play Crazy Eights.

"Gabrielle, I've a question that's been burning a hole in my mind for some weeks now."

"Ask me anything, we've no secrets." Not an entirely true statement, as I'm sure I would never get around to telling her about my trip through time.

"I do not wish to intrude, and I've only your heart's interest in mind, dear."

"Of course, what's on your mind?" I laid down a five of spades.

"Do you think Monsieur DuPuis is telling the truth about knowing nothing about a note detailing his intent to marry the Comtess?"

I sighed and rubbed my thumb over my hand of cards.

"At first I had no reason to think that he didn't send it. But now, well, I feel somewhat foolish. Erik is wont to shift situations to suit his own desires, but he's never lied to me. That I know of, that is."

"So from whose hand do you think the note originated?"

"I've heard that he was once addicted to opium, it's a hallucinogen; maybe he was overwrought to the point of re-indulging his old addiction. He could have dosed himself and written it then."

"As astute as the man is, could he navigate a typewriter after partaking of the devil flower?"

"Who knows _what_ Erik can or cannot do. He's not like other men, Mary Ann."

"Suppose he didn't write that letter."

"Possible, but how could someone else sign his name to it?"

"A signature is not difficult to copy, wax seals are not difficult to break and reseal either."

I jerked my head up to meet her knowing gaze.

"Christine?"

"Who else?"

"No! How could I have been so daft not to consider wrongdoing?"

"Trickery was not something that you anticipated, dear."

"No and Erik is the antithesis of predictability. My god, a desperate woman would do anything, wouldn't she?"

When a man as passionate and fine as Erik was at stake, a desperate woman would go to the hell and back to claim what she believed belonged to her.

"Why didn't I see? Damn it, I'm so friggin' stupid." I dropped the cards in my lap and began to cry.

Mary Ann swiftly gathered me up in her gentle arms to comfort me. "There now, Gabrielle. When a heart is fogged with bruises, it is often difficult to see the obvious truth beyond the mist."

"Mary Ann, I have never loved anyone as I have loved Erik. He is so strange and difficult to know. When he left for Paris, he promised to return to me, but then I received that letter stating his intent to marry Christine. My heart was so raw that I believed—I mean, it's Christine, the woman who was his great love, the woman he was willing to kill and die for. Once he came face to face with her, why wouldn't fall under the spell of her charms?"

"Because he loves you. Listen, dearest, I have loved and been loved by a handful of exceptional men. You are more than Erik's eidolon, your love is authentic."  
"Right, if it is so authentic, so wondrous and worthy, then tell me why it is so damned difficult?" I punched the pillow next to me on the sofa.

"Love is a battlefield to which there are no victors, only wounded. If the wounds are worth healing, then you have a duty to mend and triumph for the sake of all lovelorn creatures." Mary Ann's long, broad face grew sober. She implored me to search every crevice of my heart for the answer to her original question.

Silence filled the parlour for a long five minutes before Mary Ann resumed her discourse  
"Will you return to the manor house, Gabrielle?"

There it was—the million dollar, unavoidable question.

Erik's last letter indicated longing, affection and madness. If I returned, what would be my punishment? Reformed or not, he was once the Phantom of the Paris Opera, would his desire for recompense abate so easily?"

I wanted to return, but so much had transpired in so short an amount of time that it was difficult for me to distinguish the real from the imagined truths in my mind. There was also a considerable amount of anger, which bubbled below my emotional surface, anger that would be irrevocably damaging if I did not work through it properly.

And to think, Erik used to call me the rational one!

"Oh, this hand is mine." Mary Ann laid down her final card, beating me in our game of Crazy Eights.

"Brava, Madame, you are the victor and I, I am afraid, am exhausted. I'm going to attempt to nab a few winks before the others rise," I said.

I craved sleep in the worst way. Concerned for my physical and mental well being, Mary Ann agreed, apologized for sticking her writer's probe in too far, and kissed me on the forehead as a mother would her child.

"Yes dear, rest. All will be clearer in the morning."

I rewarded her concern with a cheerless smile and collapsed on my pallet on the floor next to the other sleeping women.

And I did sleep, but it was not dreamless.  
**_  
_**

**- 0 -**

_**Thanks again to Amy and Barb for their amazing beta talents. Please read and review for me. I'll have another chapter up shortly.**_

_**XXOO**_

_**-Leesa**_


	72. Ch 72 Dreams

_**I must say, reviews have been impressive and I see that I've ruffled a few feathers. Good, just like sitting in on a good book club discussion. **__**Thanks, Amy, Barb and Kay, you keep me real.**_

**_-Leesainthesky_**

**Chapter 72 Dreams**

The sandman did not care that I had lots to think on; he staked his claim on me anyhow. I was most grateful to him for his insistence.

As soon as my head sank into the plush bed pillows, I succumbed to the pleasures of sleep…and the land of dreams.

I found myself in a warm summer day…I was sure it must be summer because I was barefoot and wore a sheer yellow knee length dress. Queen Anne's lace claimed the wild flower meadow, and from the trees, I heard the cicadas relentless call to mate. The brilliant sun cast a bleaching haze over the landscape. I assumed I must still be in nineteenth century, as there were no electric or telephone wires littering the sky above me

A basket of wild flowers slung over my right arm, I hummed as I walked along some unnamed dusty lane. Behind me, a carriage approached. As the rumbling of its wheels grew nearer, I turned to inspect the vehicle, and, panicking, began to race down the lane, veering off into the woods to my left. What had spooked me so was unclear, but the terror I felt was very real.

I ran like a horror flick heroine through the dense trees and brush as sunlight slashed at me from above. Who in the hell was chasing me, the illusive Monsieur Vincenzo? I'd still not found an answer to that mystery, but since I was no longer in France, it plagued me less.

I continued to run, not even slowing for the thorny briars in my path.

From out of nowhere, an arched door materialized in the face of a small hill. Frantically I pried it open, and once inside, slammed the door shut and threw the bar against it. I leaned into the splintered surface, my chest heaving from exertion. The room, cave, or whatever sort of space I found my self in, was black, save for the thin strips of light seeping in through spaces in the door slats.

"No harm will befall you here, Gabrielle," said a voice from behind me.

I knew that voice, dipped in warm, golden honey; it could only belong to Erik.

From the darkness a pair of leather clad hands appeared. As he laid them on my shoulders, Erik's face came into view, first the pearly mask, and then the flash of his jade eyes and full lips before the rest of him materialized.

"Erik," I breathed. Relief and joy replaced the terror. I turned to face him with a smile and accepted his welcoming embrace.

"Be not afraid, I will protect you, he said. Erik kissed the top pf my head and I looked up at him, into those mesmerizing eyes.

"Thank god you're here! Someone was chasing me, and I think they meant to kill me…I don't know why…"

The conversation ended with Erik's lips covering mine. Swallowed up by the inviting heat of his mouth, I willingly gave in and reciprocated.

"I love you, Gabrielle," Erik murmured.

"I love you too, Erik," I whispered into his mouth breathlessly.

Never before had a kiss felt so all encompassing to my senses. I could smell freesia and jasmine, see the colors of tangerine, scarlet, yellow, fuchsia and turquoise bending and swirling around us. I tasted, what…candy? Flavours of honeyed vanilla and sweet passion fruit mingled on our tongues. And the sensation, oh! Wherever Erik's fingers touched me, I felt pleasure so intense it was as if my flesh was one enormous erogenous zone. My fingers itched to sweep across Erik's naked body. Suddenly we _were_ naked and entangled on the floor in thick velvet coverings.

Erik's deft fingers skimmed my breasts, my belly and then the delicate skin of my thighs, which I parted for his admission. He placed his free hand on mine and led me to his engorged desire. I grasped his thickness greedily and began to please him. My every pulse point throbbed with need and when Erik nipped at the skin behind my ear, I threw my head back and whimpered.

The way Erik sucked at my neck brought forth in me a foreign yet highly erotic reaction. It was almost as if his animalistic machinations of pain and pleasure were bringing me to orgasm.

Something trickled from my neck to my collar bone, I lifted my hand to touch the wetness there, and when I held my fingers to my face I saw blood.

"Erik," I protested and pulled away from him. He smiled at me, delirious and hungry with blood and fangs. "My darling Gabrielle, that which pursues you is not always discernable to the human eye, my darling." I backed away from him, shaking so hard I could not clearly articulate. I screamed "O_h my god! No! Go away_," before starting the verbal loop all over again.

Erik moved forward, backing me into a corner. He smiled and held out his arms to me. "Be sensible, Gabrielle. You know that I will not be denied. I _will_ have you, _all_ of you."

I woke up in an upright position, sweating and screeching like a banshee before I realized I'd been caught in a night terror. I ceased my screaming and glanced around the room nervously. Sunlight streamed in between open curtains. It appeared to be soft morning light, not late afternoon as I expected since I lay down for a nap at 2:30pm.

_Okay Gab, no 'Erik-pires' here._ Sheesh, what a fucked up dream, one that began as a sweet reaffirmation of affection turned into a B-grade horror flick. Just the sort of night terror whose residual fear stays with one for days before wearing off.

_Great, like I needed a reason to foster feelings of terror toward Erik_. Why couldn't I have dreamt of puppies instead?

I grabbed at the clock beside my bed. The thing had ceased to tick. It read 4:17 a.m., I assumed.

_Man, oh man, we slept for a long time didn't we?_ I asked my belly. I threw on a robe and made my way down to the kitchen to put on water for tea. From the kitchen, I heard the snip, snip of garden sheers. Bastion was out in the garden clearing dead foliage in preparation for spring planting. Ah, now I knew why the man hadn't reacted to my frantic screeching.

I sat with my feet propped up on the edge of the kitchen table and leaned back in the chair. What did that dream mean? I'd once interviewed some dream experts from the School of Metaphysics for their National Dream Hotline Week and received my very own copy of their official Dream Dictionary. I did believe that dreams could symbolize different things in the language of the mind. Being chased is a symbol of, well, ignoring or running from something one hasn't or won't deal with. What do vampires mean—fear, fear of what? Dreams seldom mean the obvious, like fear of the bad guys; it was usually more involved that. Perhaps it was the fear of having my true self taken completely away. Come on now, how could that possible apply to Erik? He never insisted that I strip myself of my identity. But did I, on some subconscious level, fear that living in this century would turn me into someone I was not?

Maybe.

One thing was for sure, no more roasted garlic and Chocolate Grenache snacks before naptime anymore.

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For the next three weeks, I wrote like a demon possessed. There were three separate articles due for publication; the one for Harpers was going to cause a ruckus as I took the Comte to task for his unyielding and unflattering views on a woman's right to vote.

My pregnancy moved along right on schedule, at least according to what I remembered from friends and relatives and from Dr. Garrett. Now that the idiotic morning sickness was over, I felt fantastic. Even though the veil of fear from my 'Erik-pire' nightmare had passed, I still had a good deal of anxiety about seeing him again, but I knew I had to make amends, and if possible, repair what was left of our relationship.

The tone of his recent letter to me was fuming-mad and I was uncertain of how to approach him. I was still a bit miffed at his previous insensitivity, plus I needed time to get these articles written and submitted before I even thought about moving back to the manor.

And why hadn't I heard from Mary Ann? Known to be a man of action, Erik would have visited her by now.

The following day's post brought an answer to my question. In her brief correspondence, Mary Ann wrote that Monsieur DuPuis had indeed paid her a call. She found him to be most pleasant and agreeable. He was grievously sorry about his insensitive infractions and wanted desperately to make amends to me. He begged her to plead his case to me immediately, for Erik was anxious to be by my side for the birth of our child, an idea that Mary Ann found most irregular.

_Oh Erik_, I sighed. _Let me believe that we can sift through the cinders of our love and find one speck of redemption left_. I'd carried my erroneous misconceptions with me for so long that I didn't know when I would be ready to face him.

_After you've written the final article Gabrielle, then you can send a letter to Erik asking for him to meet you here, on your turf. If I meet Erik on his turf, the scales will be unbalanced_, I reasoned. Since very little actually belonged to me in this century, I felt the need for control. Next Wednesday my submission for _The Liberty_ would go to post. I would also include a letter to Erik, inviting him to meet me here, in Hastings, where we would discuss our future.

Finally, I had reached what I hoped to be a viable resolution. Having done so meant fewer sleepless nights or bizarre dreams. Yet a tiny part of me still feared Erik…was still angry with Erik, but the largest part of me simply missed Erik.

Writing and cleaning the cottage was beginning to wear me out. As the days grew longer, I found my bedtime became earlier. One particular evening, after I had sewn a few items for the baby's layette and another enormous house dress for myself, I hauled my tired bones to bed at the scandalous hour of 7:00 pm.

Sometime, during one of my deep REM stages of slumber, I began to dream about Erik. This was not the frightening dream of a few weeks back; this was my familiar cozy dream where he and I lay in bed, spooned together or facing each other in a loving embrace.

On occasion, I awoke with the residue of my dream clinging to me like late morning dew. Snuggled into my pillow as if it were Erik's strong chest, drinking in the luxurious, warm, drowsy feeling, I sighed at the illusion of Erik's body, warm and close. One of his arms wrapped around me, his hand resting on my round belly, the fingers of his other hand gently smoothing the hair from my face.

I swore I could hear him whisper my name. "Gabrielle."

_I love you,_ _Erik_, I cooed back.

"Truly dear, even after fleeing from me?" he would answer.

_Huh? I'd never heard my dream Erik say that before—how very odd._

I opened my eyes. No pillow of cool cotton and down lay beneath my head, but of familiar warm flesh and blood.

Erik.

**- 0 -**

_**What doyou suppose happens next? Please review . I'll post an update by the end of the week!**_

_**-Leesa**_

**_p.s. Xeven, thanks for the Benatar. Love is a battlefield. It's not fair that you don't sign your reviews so I can email back (de, de, de, de)._**


	73. Ch 73 Love is a Battlefield

**_So you liked the last chapter did you? This one gets an M rating. Thanks for the reviews. I must say, I'm impressed, giant chocolate Godiva Easter bunnies for all!_**

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**Ch 73 Love is a Battlefield  
**  
If Erik was truly here and not a vivid apparition, he would sense any change in my pulse. I controlled my breathing, willing my thumping heart to slow down and my head to clear.

His arm moved. _Oh yeah, there's a real live man in my bed and by the scent and sound of him, he's Erik_.

_How in the hell did he…never mind_, I told my self. How or when he arrived and crawled in next to me was a moot point now. I needed to concentrate on a strategy.

Eyes still closed, I feigned sleep. I sighed again, placed my hand on top of Erik's and kissed his chest.

"Oh Erik, please do not ever leave me alone in the manor house again," I whispered in English. "I'm so lonely when you're not near."

My feeble plan was to make him believe I was talking in my sleep and dreaming of him—soften him up so that when I did actually 'wake,' his admonitions of me might not be as fierce as I imagined.

Erik's hand resting on my stomach warmed me. The heat spread downward and I felt the familiar tingle of desire.

_Damn Gabrielle, how inappropriate for you to get the hornies, now_.

I smiled and shifted nonchalantly in my 'sleep.' Now on my back with one arm outstretched, my hand settled against his crotch—a placement of its own accord.

"Erik," I breathed, affecting my best resting-pretty pose.

He ran his palm lightly across the swell of my pregnant belly, brushing his fingers over the curve and down to caress the soft skin of my lower abdomen.

"Mine," he said. His voice was not angry, but soft and filled with wonder.

I felt him growing hard beneath my fingers. The lovely sensation of Erik's arousal did little to abate my own growing lust.

I stretched and bent my knees, letting them fall open, causing my thin gown ride up my legs.

Erik touched my thigh hesitantly, as though he'd never done so before.

I purred at the contact, aching for more.

He gingerly raised the hem of my gown and cupped his palm over the familiar territory of my sex.

_Damn_.

The heat radiating from his hand was eletricifying. Unprompted by my conscious mind, I moved against him and moaned.

Beneath my hand, his cock begged for freedom from the constraints of his woolen trousers.

"Touch me, please," I whispered.

_How can a person be so angry with someone one moment then ready to bed him in the next? We are a curious race_, _aren't we? _

I laughed out loud at the thought.

"So, the princess awakens, eh?" Erik growled.

My eyes flicked opened like a dime store baby doll's.

"Mon Dieu, Erik, you're here! How—"

"You have taken me this far, Gabrielle; I will no longer be denied the joys of your wet silky sheath." He sprang upon me like a tiger, planting his knees between my already parted legs and pushing my gown out of his way.

"Erik!" I squawked at the suddenness of his move.

He grinned and eased his trousers open, freeing a colossal hard on. In one swoop, Erik lifted my hips and glanced down at his just desserts before moving in for the kill. He was so hard, penetration proved an easy task.

I gasped and, taking my action as a complaint, Erik pinned my arms to my side. His sharp gaze penetrated my soul as easily as his sex had breached my body.

Not usually one to enjoy such barbarian antics, I surprised myself when I shivered with pleasure and whimpered as Erik filled me.

He must have thought that he had hurt me, because he paused. A look of panic spread across his face.

"Gabrielle, the baby! Forgive my horrid lusts—"

"I'm fine, really," I managed to gasp. "Continue, before I come to my senses."

Erik questioned me with his eyes, then sensing permission, narrowed his gaze and seized the opportunity for satiation. He thrust into me with enthusiasm, being careful to keep undue pressure off of my abdomen.

God, the man was intense.

My sensibilities raged against me, but my body obeyed its lusts, reasoning that it would be an offense for me to deny myself the pleasures of Erik's body.

We fell into the familiar rhythm of our lovemaking, both of us panting and moaning, pushing and wriggling in a frenzied effort to reach our glorious goal.

I encouraged him shamelessly. "I want to feel the rush of your release inside of me; make me come like a wanton," I hissed.

My words did the trick. Erik's chin crinkled with concentration, he clenched his teeth and his eyes blazed as he drew his swollen sex out to the tip, then shoved it back into me with exquisite acceleration. I locked my legs behind his hips and matched his thrusts.

"Kiss me if you still love me, Erik." In an instant his lips melted onto mine; he kissed me tenderly, as only one's lover can.

Our orgasms united into one searing crescendo. A mixture of tension, anger, longing and frustration was unloosed with our vehement release. We fell back into the crumbled, damp sheet, spent from the exhaustion of this unlikely reunion.

After some time, Erik rose up on his haunches, strands of dark brown hair falling into his eyes. His face glistening with sweat, he cocked his head and grinned. It was a smile of smug satisfaction.

"Have you missed me, darling Gabrielle?" His voice dripped with arrogance.

I sat up and, with all of the strength I could muster, shoved at his shoulder. "Get off of me you ass-hole!"

Surprised, Erik toppled over and landed on his butt by my feet.

I nabbed the opportunity to jump from the bed. I quickly wrapped my robe around me.

Erik recovered, sprang to his feet and advanced on me. Your game is at an end, Gabrielle. The time has come for me to take you home.

_Oh, my. Good-bye lovely-dovey Erik, hello vengeful Erik_.

I remembered the violate tone of his letter and of how viperous he could be when riled; I pulled out the petite lady's dagger I kept hidden beneath the edge of my desk blotter.

I needed him to comprehend that I would not go quietly.

"Stay away," I cautioned, the dagger's edge shining as I jabbed it in his direction.

Then he laughed at me. "This from the woman who just begged me to take her like a whore?"

"I did not say _whore_, I said _wanton_. This isn't about sex anyway, Erik. It's about honesty and freedom." I backed farther away from him.

Erik tucked himself away and buttoned his trousers while he continued his predatory advance. "I must say darling, you've changed considerably since last fall, your are, shall I say, even lustier than I remember."

"Never mind your flippant drivel, Erik," I snarled. "Tell me, whatever happened to your dear Christine? Did she dump you and so now you want me back? Is that why you're so eager to reclaim me?"

"I want you to come home with me, Gabrielle. We've a lot to sort out. I think it is best—."

"I don't give a damn _what_ you think or want. You didn't think of me when you postponed our marriage and rushed off to Paris."

"I didn't comprehend what was happening. I was a fool Gabrielle."

"You got that right. Tell me, Erik, did you go to Christine?"

"I paid her a visit, yes."

"And somehow, things did not go as planned and here you are. I'll not be your consolation prize, monsieur," I spat.

"Damn it all, Gabrielle, I've had it with your inane ideas. Get your things. We're leaving for the train station. I'll have your other personal effects packed up and sent to the manor directly." Erik no longer walked toward me, but stood still and held out one hand as if to draw me in by an unseen power.

"I don't want to leave Hastings. I like it here. I have friends. My work is here."

"Well my work and our life waits for us in France. You can't have thought you'd stay here forever."

"I can do what I wish, I belong to no one."

"You're engaged to me and you carry my seed."

I waved the dagger at him. "Oh, but we are no longer engaged, monsieur. I trust you discovered that charming appendage by your bedside, wearing my engagement ring."

He scowled. "Indeed, what a wonderfully macabre piece of work, dear, a remnant from my personal apartment. Tell me, how did you discover it? I thought it rather well hidden."

"Rummaging around for a barn tool. Does it matter? Nice little shrine you built for your angel of music. Tell me, Erik, did you relieve yourself on Christine's wax body often?"

"You bitch." Erik clenched his hands into tight fists, flashing his teeth in a frightening grimace. "That was my private space, you had no right—"

"A future husband should not hide things from his future wife, especially when those things pertain to another love."

"If you'd cared to notice, it was all hidden behind heavy velvet draperies. I'd not looked at Christine's likeness in nearly two years."

"That crap should not have been there at all! If you loved me you would have destroyed them when you proposed to me, if not before!" I waved the dagger with each angry word.

The man actually lunged at me. In a reactionary move of defense, I struck out at him. The sharp dagger sliced through his heavy brocade waistcoat. When he sprang back, the garment gapped open slightly and I saw a spot of blood on his linen shirt. I'd not intended to harm him, only make him wary.

"Christ, woman, have you gone mad?"

"Not mad, just not afraid of you anymore, Erik, even after reading that threatening letter you sent via Mary Ann. Now, if you like, we can sit down and discuss our predicament like civilized people." I felt remorse for having cut him with my dagger.

"No, I've little time for pleasantries. Dress and grab your essentials, Gabrielle. The train leaves for the English coast in two hours. We shall have ample opportunity to talk on the journey home."

"Home? Ha! I have no home in this life, Erik." I leaned against my dressing table, the dagger still in my hand.  
His face was red with anger; his body rigid with frustration.

"I do not wish to harm you; this is for your own well being."

"My well being, Erik? Oh, bull-shit. You think that I am too stupid or helpless to make it on my own, don't you. What's your plan—drug me with chloroform and carry my unconscious body onto the train? Then what, lock me in my bedchambers at the manor until I promise to obey your every command?"

Erik shrugged. "Should I find those measures necessary, yes. At least until you regain your sanity."

_Why_, _oh why did he have to mock my sanity?_

My anger boiled over and I unleashed a stream of poisonous venom on him. "_I_ am not the crazy one, Erik. What I am is angry and hurt. I trusted you!"

"Trust? I trusted you to stay put while I closed the final chapter on my days as the Phantom of the Opera Garnier."

"Well, I trusted you not to waffle on your affections."

"I did no such thing!"

"Then what on earth do you call your reaction to Christine and that note to me detailing your wedding trip to Venice?"

"A fraud!"

"Prove it!"

Frustrated, Erik threw his hands up in the air and shook his head. "Really woman, I've no time for verbal sparring!"

Catching me off guard, he pounced and caught my wrist that held the dagger. Forcing me to drop it, he twirled me around and secured my arms behind my back. I attempted to use his weight to throw him down, but my bodily proportions, now changed, rendered my martial arts skills useless.

"I'll scream for Bastion," I threatened.

"He cannot hear you, the man has gone off to the market," he sneered, breathing heavily against my neck.

"Erik, please don't hurt me. Think of the baby." I had no idea what erratic emotions might run through the man's mind.

"Mon Dieu, Gabrielle, I am angry, not murderous.

"The letter you sent stated your intent to punish me." I spoke with dead calm. I didn't want him to know how fearful of his volatile temper I truly was.

"Oh, yes, that," Erik's voice softened. "You hid from me, you hid my unborn child from me—I was livid with you. I even questioned that you ever really loved me."

"Don't insult me, you pompous egomaniac. Do you realize how many of your psychotic temper tantrums I've patiently endured? How dare you say that I never loved you!"

"Enough!" he roared. "If I must, then I shall drag you out of here."

"Drag the mother of your child into the hallway and down a flight of stairs? A splendidly stupid idea, Erik." I said.

We both scowled at one another and I yanked, to no avail, at the grip Erik had on my arms. Finally, I slid to the floor, allowing my every muscle to relax and sink onto the rug beneath me.

Erik had no choice but to follow my descent. With his hands now uncomfortably twisted, he released me and sat down next to me. He looked like a boy with his chin on his knees, his arms wrapped around them.

"Gabrielle, Gabrielle, what am I to do? I simply cannot leave you here alone, now can I?"

I refused to answer."I've been through a great deal to find you, dear. I must say, you're quite the match for me. But ah, you left a trail of breadcrumbs the night Christine saw you at the _Magic Flute_."

"Christine? How in the hell did she have any idea I was there?"

"Having spied a man with one green and one brown eye, she recalled seeing the same features elsewhere. Then it came to her, she remembered you had the same unusual eyes and deduced that she must have seen your brother. Well, being that she knew you had left the manor, she sent me a note to telling me that if I could locate your male relative in London, then perhaps I could find you."

"Christine wanted you to find me? Oh, that's rich, Erik."

"After my rejection of her advances, she was most upset. She and I corresponded once after the meeting. I told her of your hasty departure and of how distraught I was without you. Christine, being a lady of considerable compassion, agonized for my loss. In her letter to me, she stated that she wished me no ill will, only happiness for the remainder of my days. Of course, I knew there was no brother, and from your previous escapade en tant qu'homme, knew it must be you _dans le costume_. You are clever, Madame, but not as clever as I."

"Stuff it, Erik," I glowered at him.

Swiftly he dropped to one knee and loomed over me."Get your things now, Gabrielle. I'll not tell you again!""What 'cha gonna do, Erik, take me against my will and lock me away, I recall the last time you tried that tactic, it failed miserably."Erik glared down at me, his eyes phosphorous green, his face as red as I'd ever seen it. He was not amused. I struggled against my fear and sat up to face him with defiance.

It was then that I felt a small but mighty appendage jab me from within, I flinched, wrapped my arms around my stomach and cried out in surprise at the unusual sensation.

"Gabrielle, what is wrong!" Erik, now hovering over me, his anger replaced with concern, studied my face for signs of peril. "It is the babe, isn't it?"

I gazed downward to where my hands rested, hoping for more movement from within my womb. Looking up into Erik's worried eyes, I grinned, "The little fellow is making his presence known."

Erik could not decided what to do, he was utterly befuddled, an unusual state for a man used to controlling his sphere of influence. "Pardonnez-moi, is this a normal occurrence?"

"I suppose it is, here, give me your hand, Erik."

He reached toward me with hesitancy and I took his hand in mine and laid it over the spot where I had felt the baby move."

"He may do it again, so stay alert." I said.

He nodded solemnly, and after less than a minute, received his reward when a tiny foot or fist issued another gentle jab to my lower belly.

I could not help but laugh when Erik jumped. He gazed at the spot where our hands lay. "Amazing," he whispered.

"Indeed, it is."

Our tiny unborn child was the silent mediator in our war of wills, urging us to put aside months of misconceptions to ponder the miracle of creation.

"Gabrielle," Erik moved his hand up to touch my face. "I have no desire to cause you pain, I simply do not understand why you left me and why you resist returning to me—I fear our plight is burdened with gross misunderstanding."

The visible side of Erik's face bore lines of regret. He was thinner that usual and his completion uncommonly sallow, even for winter.

Leaning in toward him, I sighed and touched his hand lightly. "Look here, Erik. When you take a misstep, you become confused at the unexpected results and reactions—yours, plus everyone else's."

Erik turned away from me.

Continuing, I tried to sound logical and compassionate. "Because you are accustomed to refusal or reprimand, you've learned to take what you want or go without it. I may understand your motives, but I do not agree with your method. Don't take me against my will. It didn't work with Christine and you _know_ it won't work with the likes of me."

"Yes, you are quite right, Gabrielle," he sighed, and turned back to face me. "But you must return. You need me to help you with our...our child."

"Let's say that I agree to your terms, but only_ if_ you give me a few weeks to finish up what I've begun here, my writing. You can stay here if you like, I'm sure Barbara will let me do as I please.

_Even if she does think I've gone absolutely crackers_.

**- 0 -**

_**Surprised, happy, confused? Please review and thanks for reading. Props to Barb and Amy once more for their excellent beta skills too.**_

_**-Leesa**_

**Translations:   
dans le costume: In costume**

**en tant qu'homme: As a man**  
**Pardonnez-mo: Pardon me**

**Mon Dieu: My God**


	74. Ch 74 Compromise

_**Back together again! Thanks for the wonderful reviews and advice. Thanks Amy and Barb, my beta's.**_

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**Ch 74 Compromise**

I lay my cards before Erik: Allow me two more weeks to complete my writing assignments and I would willingly go back to France with him; otherwise, he was up for a fight.

Erik got to his feet and stared down at me. Keeping my expression soft, I met his gaze and waited for an answer.

He pursed his lips and scanned my face with his eyes. Perhaps he was looking for a sign that told him how very serious I was. He remained silent.

"My work, it's important to me, Erik. I'm not the sort of woman who can sit home day in and out, doing needlepoint. I welcome motherhood, but I need mental stimulation as well," I answered the unspoken question between us.

He clenched and unclenched his hands, an action I found most unnerving.

"Two more weeks in Hasting," he said.

"Yes, to complete my obligations," I answered.

"No more than two weeks."

"You have my word, Erik."

I watched one corner of his mouth twitch, his gaze rising to the window.

"Well—perhaps I could alter my schedule to accommodate you for so short a time," he said with an even tone.

"That would be good."

I looked up at him. From my vantage point on the floor, Erik seemed a birch tree of a man, pale, thin, impossibly tall and strong. Suddenly I felt small, like Alice from Wonderland after she took a bite from the magic mushroom.

With my knees bent, I shifted into a crouch and lifted my hands toward Erik.

"Help me up, please."

He reached down to take my hands, and pulled me to my feet. I smoothed out the back of my bunched-up dressing gown and then shook my right foot.

"Ah, better; my feet were going to sleep from sitting in one position for so long. I need to visit the water closet too, if you'll excuse me for a moment."

Erik grabbed my upper arm.

"What is it?"

"I—nothing. A reaction, that's all, Gabrielle," he said rather sheepishly.

_He assumed that once I was out of his sight, I might flee_, I realized.

"I'll be right back. The baby pushes on my bladder so I spend a good amount of time in the 'WC'."

"My word, most inconvenient," Erik muttered.

"Especially with long dresses and pantaloons," I winked.

Off I rushed for relief; taking a moment to untangle my wild mane, brush at my teeth and splash water on my face.

When I returned to my bedchamber, Erik was sitting on the bed, hands folded, looking dazed.

"I'm going to the kitchen. Would you like for me to fix you coffee or tea?"

Snapping out of his trance, Erik shot me a surprised look. "Coffee, yes—certainly."

"Then come now," I smiled and motioned for him to follow me, which he did, coming to rest in one of the high backed kitchen chairs while I put on water to heat and busied myself with fixing fromage omelets for our breakfast.

"Gabrielle."

"Yes, Erik?"

I stirred the eggs and cream and poured half of the concoction into a buttered omelet pan.

"Tell me about this letter you are supposed to have received from me when I was in Paris."

"It arrived by special delivery, just as you detailed. The letter bore your red wax seal and your signature. The note itself was typewritten. I assumed you'd come across a typewriter and decided to utilize the impersonal method for the purpose of writing my kiss off note." I looked up from my cooking.

Erik frowned. "Typewriter, indeed! As interested as I may be in new inventions, I would never utilize such an impersonal and cold machine for corresponding."

"From the day Christine came back into your life, I walked about on eggshells. What with the wedding postponement, your trip to Paris and then finding that horrible lair of yours with the shrine—well, my emotions were raw. I was primed and ready to accept rejection; half expected it; whatever method you used was secondary to the message."

I sprinkled a generous amount of cheese into the pan and flipped the omelet onto a plate.

"I suppose I should have smelled a rat, but with all that had transpired between us and on top of my pregnancy, my muddled mind could not think clearly. Now that you're here and I can touch you and talk to you, I realize that you would never treat me that way. It has been said that distance makes to heart grow fonder, I think it makes the mind grow dimmer."

Erik shoved his chair away from the table with a screech. He walked over to where I stood at the stove and put his large hands on my shoulders.

"Gabrielle, even if I chose to end our engagement, I would never do so in a letter. Beast thought I may be, I endeavor to be a gentleman," his voice was as warm as summer against my neck.

I flipped the other omelet onto a plate and turned to face him.

"Of course you wouldn't. But who would?"

I had my suspicions.

Erik took both plates from my hand. I smiled inwardly at the gesture and wondered if he thought it was too cumbersome for me to carry now that I was with child.

"I daresay Christine may be the culprit. When I spurned her, she became hysterical, threatened to harm herself. I do not believe the woman is well, Gabrielle."

"But you told me that she felt awful for my leaving you, that's why she contacted you about seeing my 'brother' at the opera in London. That doesn't sound like a woman obsessed to me."

"She did calm herself after a while and confided that the stress of losing the young Comte and having to deal with the legalities of his estate were too much for her to bear. Then she found I was alive and well. It is fortunate that she has a son away at school; else I fear she might end her life. During the brief time I spent in her company, I witnessed a chameleon's repertoire of erratic mood changes."

_Bi-polar_, I thought to myself.

"And her grief has her reminiscing and romanticizing about her past. It's only natural I suppose," I said, while walking to the icebox for butter and cream. Passing the sideboard, I grabbed a basket of yesterday's croissants and a jar of marmalade.

"How did she find out?"

"Around five years ago when the opera houses began producing my compositions, she attended one of my operas. Christine recognized my music. When she learned that the music belonged to the composer Erik DuPuis, she knew it was me."

"Ah, I see."

Erik stood to pull out my chair for me.

"In the note, it said that there was money in the hookah in your music room for me to take and use for my new life. How on earth would anyone know a detail like that?" I asked.

"While there _is_ money in the hookah, I intended it for use should you require immediate funds. As for the matter of going to Venice, I did indeed travel to the city for business. Whoever intercepted my letter read these facts and fashioned them into the counterfeit letter which you received."

"If your investigations lead you to discover that Christine is indeed behind this affair, what will you do Erik?"

The Comtess had pissed me off royally, but I had zero desire to see her suffer Erik's murderous wrath. Previous devotion notwithstanding, I knew Erik would not treat a deception of this magnitude with kid gloves.

"I—do not know for certain. I am very much inclined to break her lily white neck in reward for her monumental betrayal. But, alas, I made a promise long ago to my dear Persian friend that I would murder no more, not unless I was faced with life or death."

Erik's voice was polite and cold; it sent spikes of icy shivers through my veins.

"If she is at the bottom of all this mess, I do want her to know that we have uncovered this secret debauchery, but I do not want you to physically hurt her, Erik."

Christine was a desperate child of a woman, one who played desperate games. Exposure was often shame enough in matters of the heart.

Erik answered me with confident restraint, "No, I've never willingly harmed a woman, Gabrielle. But mark my words, I shall have a face to face with her and soon."

"I've known you nearly two years now, and so far I've seen you back away from few confrontations," I said, leaning back in my chair and crossing my hands over my stomach.

He picked up his coffee, stirred in one teaspoon of honey, and took a hearty sip.

"Turkish coffee, a delightful surprise."

"You've passed your exotic taste for it onto me. I drink little of it now that I'm pregnant."

He raised his one visible eyebrow.

"Some studies show that excessive amounts of caffeine aren't good for the unborn child, same goes for alcoholic beverages."

"Really, now?"

"Yep, there are a lot of things people of your time don't know about pre-natal health. I've even had to fight Dr. Garrett, who is an excellent physician, on a few points."

"Fascinating. You must fill me in later on all you know. Look, Gabrielle, do you still have that typewritten letter in your possession?"

"I think I crumpled it up and threw it in the bottom of my carpet bag, which is in the very back of my closet, upstairs. As soon as you're done with breakfast, you can help me dig it out. There are some heavy boxes in front of it," I said.

"I still cannot believe that a woman of your intellect could believe that I wrote it,"

Erik scowled at me from across the table.

"And I still cannot believe a man of your intellect could think that I'd wait complacently by at home, while her fiancé traipses off to visit his former love interest," I countered.

"Gabrielle, when it comes to fairer sex, I know shit."

"Amen to that, Monsieur." I toasted his quip with my coffee cup and laughed at his use of the English expletive.

Erik snorted indignantly, but smiled anyway. "Well, it took you no time to reacquaint yourself to my touch; perhaps I do know a little about pleasing a woman."

Confused and somewhat miffed with myself over the ease in which I surrendered to my lusts, satiating them with this man from whom I'd been hiding, I ducked my head and blushed.

_Why did he have to bring that up?_

I'd a feeling this morning would stretch into a long afternoon of discussions with the elegant green eyed man staring at me from across the kitchen table.

- () -

_**Please readers, review for me and you shall be rewarded with another chapter shortly**_

_**-Leesa**_


	75. Ch 75 Breakfast

**_Sorry this took so long. It was a busy weekend. Thank you Amy and Barb, my beta's extraordinaire, without you, I would look like a dork. Thanks, readers and reviewers, without you, I would have no reason to write this fanfic. _**

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**Chapter 74Breakfast**

I'd heard it said that many women experience heightened sexual arousal during pregnancy. While this may be true, it was not a valid excuse for allowing Erik an all access pass to my body the moment he crawled back into my bed. What in the hell was wrong with me?

One moment I'm running in fear of his dubious temper, the next, I'm screwing him. Does being pregnant also discombobulate the mind? 

What could I possibly say to his remark that it took no time for me to reacquaint myself to his touch?

_Well, gee whiz Erik, you ran after Christine, sent me a Dear Jane letter, or so I thought, then you threatened to punish me in a recent note, but hey, what can I say, you've got magic hands, dude.  
_

_Yeah, right._

Making love to Erik, then returning to the reality of the situation at hand left me feeling awkward. There remained between us an atmosphere of cautious reserve. So many misunderstandings, miscalculations and missteps; I wondered how we would glue the pieces of our fragmented love back together without leaving deficiencies.

Our breakfast banter was mostly polite. We had dared not step on sore toes or dive into water too deep to tread. Up until now.

"You're blushing, darling. Does reflecting on our morning mating session cause you discomfort? A most perplexing reaction from the woman who carries my child." Erik scrutinized me closely; his hint of a smile mocked me.

Upset for not knowing my mind any better than I did, I swung around in my chair and reached for the press pot on the stove behind me. Buying time, I poured another cup.

Erik was still considering me when I turned back to the table with my coffee. He'd crossed his arms tightly against his chest and dipped his chin into his cravat. If eyes could truly burn holes into people, his gaze would have incinerated me.

"What? What do you want me to say? I have no words for you, Erik; not in French, not in English, Italian not even Swahili!" I spat.

"The writer has no words of eloquence for her lover?" he said, his voice a toneless shade of gray.

I smacked the table with my full cup, sloshing hot coffee over the table cloth.

"Damn you, Erik! Damn your seductive ways!"

"I beg your pardon?" A bit of the hot liquid splashed on Erik's hand, causing him to wince.

"You've not a clue of the intoxicating power you hold over me, have you?" 

"Many others have fallen under the spell of my vocal charms, but never you, dear. Why, it was you who told me that those who resist control of their person are immune to even the strongest hypnotic suggestion. Therefore, I find your claim puzzling."

"It is not your voice that I am speaking about."

There it was again, that dark eyebrow raised over one seductive, jade colored eye, fringed with impossible long black lashes.

"Erik, don't—" 

"What is it I am doing? Really, Gabrielle, you are acting illogically. I find it hard to believe that, being a beast of a man, I possess sexual prowess so immense as to render a headstrong women helpless."

Maybe it was anger or frustration or the months of pent up sorrow or those pesky hormones; I couldn't pinpoint the precise cause of my actions, but I began to cry. These were not sweet little princess tears either, but an open faucet pouring down my face at breakneck speed.I shoved my chair away from the table and sprang to my feet, gulping in air, willing the waterworks to cease.

"Look here you—you impossible man. I gave you all that I had, my body and my trust. I know you don't get the whole 'how to behave in a relationship' thing, but you act as if you do not understand my trepidation in the least. The problems we experience are not solely my doing. We are equally to blame for our stupidity!"

"Agreed." Erik said with uncharacteristic meekness.

I could not stop the endless rush of words— or tears.

"When I came here to this century, I was so lost; lost and frightened. Then you found me and took me in. You were kind, compassionate and helpful. It was as if our singular worlds collided at just the right time. Slowly you and I forged a friendship. There was respect, affection, love, lust."

I leaned against the kitchen sink and gripped its porcelain edge behind my back. I took another deep breath and continued while Erik looked on.

"Ah, but_ then_—" I hiccupped and sniffled, "—just when I thought I'd found the most marvelously unique mate, Christine's ghost sweeps in causing you to blink and lose focus on us. If I must, I can make it alone in relative comfort, however I don't—well, do you want to know the truth, Erik?"

"Of course I do," his rich voice implored.

"The truth is that I—I don't _want_ to live a life where you are not in it. But I need to know that you will always choose _me_." 

Another storm cloud of tears threatened to rain down my face. Erik pushed away from the table and rose. In no mood for his solicitous approach, I turned away.

"Gabrielle, I—what do I say? I am human, a damaged, insufficient human at best. I've hurt you very badly, haven't I?"

I leaned my head back, willing the tears to run backwards.

"Dear, dear, Gabrielle," I felt the weight of his hands touch my shoulders gently. The contact made me need him, and that made me angry.

"Stop, stop, stop!"

"For God's sake, whatever is wrong with you?"

"Every time you touch me, I remember how I love you, why I love you and I wonder if you will ever fully love me in return. I wonder if you will consider _my_ feelings when you get a notion to do something that could harm us, or if you will continue your way of barreling into whatever it is Erik wants to go and do without a care in the world for what I think. Oh, I know it's how you've survived the cruelties of others all of your life, but I am not responsible for that life. If you want me, want _us_, you will have to prove to me that you are worthy of me!"

I was spitting mad and the tears gave way to anger. It boiled forth so swiftly that it was hard to stop.

I shook Erik's hands from my shoulders and walked over to the kitchen's picture window. The late winter sun shone on the dusky earth, barren but for withered remnants of last year's foliage and a few tiny green shoots reaching for the hope of spring.

"This is madness," I head him say. He slammed something, maybe his fist, on an unknown surface.

"My mother should have taken me to the river and drowned me like a mongrel at birth," he whispered, his voice seething with self-loathing. "Once again I have succeeded in murdering the only light in my life with my cursed self-indulgence. You had every right and reason to flee from me, Gabrielle. I crave love, yet I feel that I am not equipped _to_ love as a man ought to love a woman. How can you stand the thought of me?"

I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead onto the cool glass of the window.

"Because I love you, Erik, you idiot."

He snorted. "Whatever for?"

I whipped around to look him, trying not to think about my blotchy red face and tear swollen eyes. I was never a pretty crier.

"Lordy, you can be amazingly daft! In the eighteen months you and I have spent in one another's company, have you not gotten a glimpse of the man within? Oh, I do agree with your personal appraisal of being a self-centered and suspicious man, but I've witnessed those walls crumbling down. I believe that if you wish to continue to change for the better, you will do so!" My voice echoed off the plaster walls of the cottage's large country kitchen.

Erik gawked at me as if I'd popped him upside the head; his mouth ajar, eyes wide open, saying nothing.

I held my hands up in a gesture of helplessness, but then let them flop back to my sides.

"Put yourself in my place, Erik. You sneak into this cottage, slip into my bed, seduce me, then like a swashbuckling pirate, stake your claim and your intent to carry me off to your lair for safe keeping."

"I wanted you back in your proper place," he growled.

"Yes, brute force always woos the ladies, Erik," I said snidely.

"Forgive me, Gabrielle. I was distraught. I didn't know what had happened to you." Erik advanced on me with predatory grace, his eyes flashing fire.

I pointed a finger at him and stuck my chin out in defiance. "You better step off, Erik. While I appreciate your passion, I do not appreciate your aggression!

Erik paused two or three feet shy of me. His countenance softened. It was as if a stark personal revelation had hit him, that he'd gotten a glimpse of himself that he did not like in the least. He'd caught himself being the Phantom.

"I daresay that since you've left, I have been but a cold, empty tomb of a man. You make me feel as though I have a soul. I—I need you to _live_, Gabrielle." His voice was a whisper.

Erik made his way back to the table and sat down with his long legs spread wide; he slumped over and rested his elbows on his knees, raking both hands through his hair, giving the appearance of a man defeated.

I went to him, knelt at his feet and peered up into his face. Erik slid the half mask from his face and wiped at the perspiration on his forehead. His expression was that of a man heartsick with remorse.

"Imbécile," said aloud.

"We're both behaving like simpletons," I said. "You must realize Erik, that I would not leave you without thinking I had a valid reason to do so. I now totally realize that you would never have typed such a letter to me."

Erik lifted his gaze to meet mine.

"I know," he whispered.

"If there's any hope for us, then we'll both have to make allowances, not only for cultural differences, but gender differences as well. Healing, Erik; it could take some time and considerable patience."

"Time," he snorted, "is something I have quite a lot of."

I smiled and kissed his forehead. My knees began to stiffen so, steadying myself against his arms, I rose to my feet.

Then he straightened up to his full height, smoothed his hand over his face and across his dark hair. "Breakfast is clearly over; shall we progress to the closet in your bedchamber for that confounded letter?"

"Lets."

- () -

**_Yes, the next chapter will get into the letter. Please review for me, and thank you in advance for doing so._**

_**Your obedient servant,**_

_**-Leesa**_


	76. Chapter 76 The Letter

**_This one is short and sweet, but worth it. __I love you people, your reviews are encouraging, helpful and amusing. Thank you. Welcome new readers and r eviewers too. Kudos to Amy and Barb the beautiful betas for there assistance.. _**

**–_Lesainthesky_**

**Chapter 76 The Letter**

On occasion, I would stop to ponder the preternaturalness of my life, and upon doing so, often found myself sucked into a vortex of disbelief. This was one of those occasions.

Time had swapped my previous world for a new one, a decidedly backwards Victorian Europe. I had fallen in love with a reclusive and talented genius, the _Fantôme de l'opéra de Paris_, lost him, or so I believed, to the legendary Christine and then, after becoming pregnant with his child, taken refuge in a cottage belonging to the famous nineteenth century feminist and author Barbara Bodichon.

And now, here was Erik, back in my life once more, searching for the letter that would possibly be the patch on our fractured relationship. The same letter responsible for those fractures.

Egad, what a mind-trip. But it was real, every living moment of it.

Erik trailed behind me silently as we made our way up the stairs to my bedchamber. With brisk motions, I strode to the closet, withdrew the skeleton key and fitted it in the lock.

"Packrats, the lot of you," mumbled Erik. Before us was a tower of tightly packed personal articles. There were hat boxes, assorted stacks of the Bodichon's belongings, my possessions plus an errant basket or pillow. At the bottom of this mess was my needlepoint carpet bag containing the crumpled up letter.

With hands on my hips, I surveyed the closet's contents. "All right let me pull some of these little things out first." I began with the baskets, pillows and a few small boxes, tossing them into the room, arranging them in a pile on the floor.

When I yanked at the handle of a rather large suitcase, Erik stepped in.

"Here, Gabrielle, you should not be straining your body so. Do sit."

I let him play the gentleman and sat on the nearby chaise, directing.

Eventually, the large carpet bag came into view at the bottom of the closet.

"In the corner, that's it."

Erik withdrew the luggage and set it next to me on the chaise. He stepped back a pace, clasped his hands behind his back and watched me surveyed the dusty luggage.

"Go on, open it then," he said nodding at the bag.

I flicked him a tolerant glance and unbuckled the bag's heavy straps.

My stomach leapt when I peered inside. Other than a handkerchief, a comb and a few unidentifiable crumbs, the wadded up parchment were its only contents.

"Well?" said Erik.

"Patience, dear."

I withdrew the letter and smoothed it out as best I could. Time and tears had smeared the crude typing, but the note's message was still discernable, 'I've found another, remove your presence from my life immediately.'

I began to chew on my thumb while I re-read the poisoned print.

Erik, normally blunt in his requests, was not prone to bad manners when it came to women; therefore, the thoughts on the page could not be his thoughts. Why had I not seen that before? Shock, a bruised heart, hormones; who knows?

Regardless of the note's authenticity, revisiting it stung.

Suddenly, I became aware of Erik's long fingers beckoning me to surrender the parchment for his perusal.

"Oh, yes. Sorry." I released the note to him.

He glanced at me briefly, cupped my chin in his other hand. "Do not fret so, darling. I'm certain we shall get to the bottom of this wicked mystery."

"I've no doubt of it."

He turned his attention back to the letter and slid into the spot beside me with grace.

I watched his pale eyes narrow and turn dark with anger. He would read a few lines, glance away and then read a few more, his jaw muscles twitching with tension as he read.

"Ah, but I _am_ the author of this part. It was penned by my own hand in the letter you were meant to have received." Erik tapped the letter with his forefinger and recited the line in question. _'I am the most selfish and terrible of men to treat you so after all we've been to each other, and would not blame you if you now loathe me.'_

Ah, but I the author of this part. It was penned by my own hand in the letter you were meant to have received." Erik tapped the letter with his forefinger and recited the line in question. 

Unsure of how to react, I stuck my hands in the folds of skirt between my knees and answered with a small shrug.

"You see, dear, upon leaving the Chagny townhouse for Venice, I had ample time to reflect on how I had handled the entire affair since the night you and I attended my opera."

He turned so that we faced each other. "I ruminate only on my needs and my wants. I insist on confronting a woman from my past while abandoning the only woman who has ever loved me; the only woman to touch me with love and to welcome my touch in return—my passionate, sweet, darling, my muse, my betrothed. A more clever, loving and equitable mate will I never find. Small wonder you made haste in leaving me, Gabrielle."

"I should have know better. The letter, Erik, you wouldn't--"

"Hush now, my darling. In light of your delicate condition and the paces I put you through, I hold no malice toward you for your previous actions."

He focused on letter once more. I looked on calmly. Abruptly he crushed the parchment in his hand, his face turning crimson.

Obviously, Erik was through reading.

"'Vacate the manor house?' I shall skin the hide from her petite frame and use it as a door mat!" he bellowed.

"She did this; I've no doubt of it. That minx intercepted my letter to you, typed this one on her new typewriter and forged my signature, not a difficult undertaking since it's naught but a scribble. When I met with her in Paris, I thought it proper for me to speak with her personally, yet again she betrays me!"

Erik shot to his feet and began pacing the room as though he were an agitated tiger. "Damn her little scheme. Damn her pleading and her memories!"

"Ha! Christine of all people in this miserable world should know that I cannot be fooled. How brave of the little wench, thinking she could out manuver the master magician of Persia! Perhaps she would like a visit from my Punjab lasso!

For some minutes now, I'd keep quiet, allowing him time to assimilate his anger, but I could see the seething picking up steam, he needed a respite.

"Erik, please come sit back down." I patted the spot next to me.

He jerked his head in my direction and gawked at me.

"Please?" I said softly, attempting to calm him.

Erik skulked his way back to the chaise, sat beside me and rested his hands on his knees.

I leaned toward him and laid my hand over his. "Tell me about Paris."

"You want to know?" His brows knit as though I'd said something puzzling.

"I do."

Erik sighed deeply and stared out into the room. He began detailed his visit to Paris from the point when he'd left DuPuis Manor late in the morning four months ago.

"I drove directly from the manor to the Chagny town house. There I addressed Christine about the matter of her letter to me—the one where she professed her affection. She served a high tea, a habit cultivated from living abroad, I imagine."

"What did you—talk about."

"It seemed she wished to congratulate me on my successes. She apologized for mishandling our first face to face meeting all those years ago beneath the Opera Garnier."

I nodded for him to continue, assuming he meant the un-masking incident following her great singing triumph.

"I waved away her concerns and told her that the past was just that, and we'd do the world a favor by releasing it to the wind. Christine inquired of my well being. I told her straight out that I was happy and in love with you. That I was eager to make you my wife and possibly begin a family. Well, the little thing's face fell and she implored me with her sweet voice to reconsider."

"Really now."

"Christine said to me, 'Erik, I married Raoul because I loved him, but he also made me feel safe. He's gone now and I no longer wish to live the cloistered life of a Comtess. I wish to taste the passion of a life spent in your arms. I pine for our voices and our bodies to entwine in the passion that you promised so long ago. You do still feel for me, I know you must, Erik. Won't you please take me to where the music of the night engulfs and enthralls?' Can you fathom that?"

Here Erik paused and looked at the ball of parchment still wadded in his hand. I wondered what his thoughts were. Did he reminisce about his angel with fondness and regret or was he angry still? His face offered me no clues.

After a long stretch Erik spoke. "Gabrielle, I cannot bear the thought of causing you more pain."

"I think it's important that you tell me these things, Erik. I want nothing of the past to come between us."

"As you wish. Before leaving, I encouraged Christine's renewed interest in her music, reiterated my devotion to you and wished her well. When I stood to leave the de Chagny household, she requested one thing of me—a kiss."

"A kiss you say?"

"Christine wanted a farewell kiss from me." Erik's voice was low and uncertain.

"Did you—oblige her?"

"She stepped up to me for a simple peck on the cheek, or so I assumed. Instead, she kissed me full on the lips. Perhaps she hoped to rekindle my passion for her."

I strained to keep my voice from betraying my emotions. "And you responded—"

He stopped me with a glance. "I made her stop. I said that if she wanted more than a gentlemanly good-bye buss, I insisted she allow me to remove my mask."

Not thrilled with where this was going, I twisted my mouth into a mock smile to keep from saying something rude. Now was not the time for conflict.

"Christine agreed to my terms and so I removed the bit of leather, revealing my ugly visage to her eyes."

"Not your mask. I know how you hate that."

"Do you know what she did, Gabrielle?"

"What, Erik?"

"Christine _winced_. Just a tiny bit, nothing more than a slight narrowing of the eyes but I saw it. Oh, she'd kissed my naked face once before without fear. Evidently, what I took for love was merely pity. You never winced. Not once. Not ever."

I smiled weakly and rubbed my thumb across his hand, which was now cold. I had to ask. "And did you kiss?"

"I am ashamed to say that I did. Gabrielle, I will always think of Christine with a special fondness, and that fondness confused me. Did it mean anything? Being a novice at love, especially the romantic kind, I had no previous method of measurement. I had to know, so yes, I kissed her."

DO NOT react, I warned myself.

"Did you—what did you feel?" Fear gripped my heart in anticipation of his answer.

"I'll not tell you it wasn't pleasant, but I felt terribly wrong. Christine's soft lips left me cold, desire no **_longer_** burned in my soul for the little diva. Black guilt filled me and my heart ached for you. I gently pushed back from her and abruptly bid farewell to Madame de Chagny." He laughed with grim humor.

"That very evening I penned a letter to you from my hotel room. In the letter, I professed my irrevocable, eternal love to you and pled for your forgiveness. I regretted deeply the need to travel to Venice, for it meant that we would remain parted for another ten days. Oh Gabrielle!" Erik sobbed into his hands, dropping the wadded ball of parchment unheeded to the floor.

-()-

_**Please read and review. XXOO**_

**_-Leesa_**


	77. Ch 77 Payback

**I can't believe this story is up to 77 chapters. I owe all of you a big chocolate covered thanks for reading, lurking and reviewing my little fanfic, and extra big thanks to Barb and Amy for their beta talents. I couldn't do it without you. Eventually I'll have to go back to the beginning and proof those too. Welcome new readers and reviewers!**

**-Leesainthesky**

**Chapter 77 Paybacks**

Far too many thoughts hovered in the air around us. Erik and I had lapsed into a silence which neither one of us seemed in a hurry to break. I caressed my stomach with my right hand, a recently adopted habit since the movements from my tiny body mate had increased in frequency.

Eventually Erik's gaze dropped from my face to my midsection. Curiosity shone in his mismatched eyes.

Silence, along with the intensity of his scrutiny, made me uncomfortable. I decided to break the ice.

"So, what do you plan to do about Christine's shenanigans?"

Erik's eyes remained glued to my belly, but his soft look of wonder faded into one of malice. "Retribution for the trouble she has caused my family." Bitterness dripped from his words.

His _family_.

I'd never thought of us that way before. I suppose we were a family, the three of us. Surprisingly the thought of it pleased me.

Noticing that my dressing gown was bunched up, I straightened and pulled the hem back over my bare knees. "Oh, I don't think you should do anything rash, Erik. You promised Nadir not to kill anymore, didn't you?"

He gaped at me open-mouthed, looking like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Did I divulge that to you? Well I must have if you know of it. Blasted pledge."

_Perhaps I'd gleaned that particular bit of information from the Leroux book_.

"Tell me, my darling, what should I do—sneak up on Christine in the night, scare the wits out of her and force her to apologize to your face?" He laughed with grim humor.

"Hmm …that could be humiliating for a Comtess. Mental anguish. It's what's called a win, win situation. You get your revenge, she gets her life."

I hoped my stab at levity might lighten his mood. While small, I was aware that within Erik remained a speck of the blackness that had sustained him during his former years as the Devil's Child and the Phantom.

"I cannot allow Christine to believe she's gotten away with her deception scot free. The more I contemplate her words and deeds, the more furious I become with her dead husband, the Comte for abandoning his fragile wife. She's always possessed an unstable vulnerability which requires a loving hand to guide her. Loneliness breeds insanity."

Erik's face expressed what he did not need to say, that he knew all too well the ravages of loneliness. My heart longed to save him from an entire lifetime of such a bleak fate.

"So, write her a letter. In it tell her that the gig is up and you know about her sneaky little letter swap. Brag about our reunion and your upcoming fatherhood. That should be enough to send her slinking off to a well-appointed refuge."

"Dear me, you've a wicked imagination, darling," Erik chuckled, but then lapsed back into a cheerless mood.

"People have always run from me because of my face, but you, Gabrielle, you stayed in spite of it. The reason for your flight was, quite ironically, not my horrific face, but my horrific actions. Having achieved expertise in both physical and emotional spheres, I am now a fully-rounded man!" Erik spat out his words and laughed sardonically.

"Erik, we all do the wrong things for the right reason."

"I. Am. An. Arrogant. fool."

"Be that as it may, on occasion, it is your cool veneer and insatiable will to learn that attracts me to you all the more. I've watched you struggle to comprehend not only the ways of a woman, but the actions of one from a completely different time and place. We struggle in tandem to understand one another."

"I shall never understand women," he grumbled.

"If you ever do, write a book; you'll be come a hero to the masses," I smiled.

"Erik, dear, beneath that heavily shellacked outer shell of yours, lies a warm and hopeful heart. You obliged Christine's invitation because you are a gentleman, not because you wanted her. You came after me with a vengeance because you hate to lose, especially in love. These things I can't hold that against you. Even with your formidable growl, I know that you would never harm a hair on my head."

"I would sooner cut off my own head that touch you in anger, Gabrielle," he said softly. "As for your astute observations of my intentions, well, it's a pity you've taken you so very long to reach them."

"Come on now, Erik. A lot of stuff went down that I was completely unaware of before now. Look, we have only two choices; rise to the challenge of our unique love affair, or decide that it's not worth the trouble and chuck it all. What will it be for you?"

"I don't care a whit about our differences; in truth, we are very much alike, my dear." The conviction of his words took me aback some. I'd never entertained the notion that Erik really paid much attention to my habits.

"Alike? How so?" I asked.

"We're both curiously open to one another's inexplicable differences. You lack the ignorance to fear me for my disfigurement and I lack the sheer stupidity to treat you as inferior because of your gender. We're both keen on the idea of monogamy, adore the arts and do not suffer fools lightly... well, perhaps you're more gracious that I in that arena."

My lip switched with the beginning of a smile. "In my previous line of work, suffering fools was a prerequisite. General Managers and television anchormen notwithstanding."

"Spar as we may, we manage to come through it all the wiser. Of course, there is the delight we find in each other's bodies. While I have always craved a woman's touch, I never dreamt of the pleasures your goddess hands bestow upon me. And now, my dear, we await our child."

Erik smiled down at me and placed a gentle hand on the side of my swollen belly.

He wanted me to understand that he would always be there for me to the best of his ability, if only I would re-open my heart.

"Erik, a wife, a child, they're a lot of work in the best of times. I am headstrong and independent, not a nineteenth century gentleman's dream bride."

"Gabrielle, to me, you've never been anything but those things. My dear, what else could I possibly hope for?"

"Someone a tad more...malleable?"

"Another Christine? Absolutely not. I require someone who can match me, else I'd become dreadfully bored."

"You say that, but do you honestly mean what you say?"

Erik frowned, but before he could debate what I had said, I continued.

"You say you want a mate who does not readily agree with your every thought and wish, yet whenever I challenge you, let's just say you become irritated, even irrational and that mighty temper of yours, well, it has the force of a strong northern wind behind it for sure."

He considered me closely. Behind those jade eyes, I thought I saw the formation of an idea.

"Gabrielle, do you—do you fear me? Do you imagine returning to DuPuis Manor only to have me lock you away and forbid you your freedoms?" he questioned, his voice laced with concern.

"Honestly, I do wonder how you'll change once I'm back within your influence. I'd like to continue my writing and my social life, Erik. But you must trust me." I eyed him ruefully.

"But I do trust you."

"You have a jealous bent, Erik. Every time you see me speaking or laughing with another man, you must not react the way you did the day I went for my fitting at the dressmaker's. Remember your not so subtle fit of angst over seeing me laughing with the assistant?"

Erik shifted uncomfortably on the chaise; beads of perspiration appearing on his naked brow. "I thought that if you made the acquaintance of other men, you would find them more— interesting than me."

I couldn't help but snort out a laugh, "That's doubtful. You forget, monsieur, I have one hundred and fifty years on you, and until recently, I've met not one more interesting that you."

He pouted. "I do not trust other men."

"Erik, you'll just have to get over it."

"Get _over_ it, Gabrielle? Erik pursed his lips and frowned.

"Look here, I am not a frail wisp of a girl who can be easily swayed, you forget I come from a place when men and women work side by side equally."

"You forget that in this century, an overly familiar woman is often branded by as loose. I'll not have others accusing you of improprieties."

"Screw them. Since when did you care about the opinions of others, Erik?"

"I don't, I worry only about your reputation."

"Obviously _I_ don't," I pointed at my girth to indicate my current condition.

"Yes, right," he said and cleared his throat. "I do see your point on that one, dear; except for, perhaps, the opinions of music reviewers." He flipped his hand through the air in an elegantly dismissive fashion.

"Well, many of them are daft, "I said. "But you really do see my point? Erik, what we have here is progress, my dear!"

He gave me a slight, humorous shrug. "Since meeting? You, I've learnt that anything is possible."

Erik lifted his hand to my hair. His long fingers slid through the fringe around my face, catching a lock to twirl around his forefinger.

"Ma jolie femme, I am constantly amazed by your heart and your intellect."

When I began to speak, he put two fingers over my lips.

I tilted my chin upward. I needed to peer into his green depths and see into his soul.

"Gabrielle, my love, will you consent to be my wife?" Love glowed in his eyes.

I tried to think sensibly, but his provocative voice ensnared my mind.

"Erik—"

"These words are not spoken lightly, Gabrielle. I will not bother you again with my request, nor will I force you into matrimony if you do not wish it."

"—give me a few days to catch my breath, please. So much has happened lately."

"My terms are simple. Be my wife. Be my friend and confidante. Help me to raise our child, love me and in return I will love, honor and protect you for the remainder of our days."

All the pain and outrage that I'd hoarded dissolved beneath the sincerity of Erik's promise. I loved him. I wanted him. Trust would take time.

"God, you drive me crazy," I whispered.

During the entire discussion of the letter and his proposal, I'd remained propped against the back of the chaise. When I sat up straight to stretch my fatigued muscles, Erik slipped one arm behind me and drew me close. The bodily contact filled me with welcoming warmth.

"Answer me when you are sure and not a moment before," he said.

"Yes," I nodded.

"You'll not make me wait long, will you?"

"No, course not."

I grinned, winked at him, then kissed him on the nose. When I bent down to pick up the carpet bag, I noticed the balled up letter next to the chaise.

"You may keep that ball of lies; I have no use for it." I dipped my head toward the crumpled parchment on the floor.

"Indeed, I shall need it for proof." Keeping his hold on me, he reached down with his other hand to retrieve the letter, which he then unfolded, smoothed out best he could and tucked away into his coat pocket.

"I nearly set fire to that you know."

"Yes, well, I am extraordinarily pleased that you did not, else we'd have no proof of Christine's deception. I'm still at a loss as to why you believed I could have authored the ghastly thing." Erik appeared slightly agitated.

He shook his head. "Have you no faith in me, Gabrielle?"

"Lots of faith, but this entire Christine debacle had left me raw and wounded—But all of that aside, I am of the opinion that she needs to be taught a lesson. Nothing violent you understand, Erik." I wanted no maiming or bloodshed.

"A serious lesson, I daresay. Have you a fitting suggestion?" He asked.

"Maybe. Are you up to spending an afternoon on planning a well deserved payback?"

"Absolutely, my darling." Erik became alert. He smiled down at me with a devious gleaming his eyes.

_Ah yes, this is just his sort of fun isn't it. _I thought.

- ()-

**_I know you have lots and lots of suggestions yourself on how to payback Christine. Lol! Please review for me; I am trying to get to 1,000 reviews._**

_**-Leesa**_


	78. Ch 78 Details

**_Thanks to Barb and Amy for the beta work they do. If there are mistakes in the text, it is because I go back in to add last minute details and I am a sloppy proof-reader. Enjoy this chapter, it's short but sweet._**

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**Chapter 78 Details**

"Retribution, my favorite dish." Erik's slim smile hinted at a past filled with an abundance of questionable avengement.

"I find that as my years have increased my need for such sport has waned. Yet I simply cannot allow Christine's deeds to go un-rewarded."

"Casing emotional pain is not something I've ever had a taste for, Erik, those activities were more my mother's specialty," I said.

"Yes, I fear we are both recipients of unusual maternal affections. Or should I say _affliction_s."

Erik kissed the top of my head and I relaxed against his warm chest.

"True words indeed. That's why I've always shied away from the thought of motherhood; the apple doesn't fall far from the tree and all that," I sighed.

"A supreme fallacy. You shall make the best of mothers, Gabrielle. Look at how well you've nurtured me."

I turned in his arms to look up at him. "Somebody needed to love you as you were meant to be loved; my disappearing act did nothing to nurture your growth, though."

"Never mind that. Daylight continues to dawn on my dark past. It is a bright new life that I seek for us both—and for our child." Erik cupped my face in his hands and stared into my eyes. In his gaze, I saw the promise of a lifetime.

"I—do not deserve you, Gabrielle. You suffer far more of my missteps than any woman should have to from a man. I am inconsistent and piggish."

"You are so right," I said, kissing his chin, nose and forehead in between my words. I laughed lightly when he frowned in mock indignation at my agreement. "But, oh how I do love you, enigma man."

"And I, you, desperately, completely, irreversibly. Please, do not make me wait long for your answer to my proposal," he warned gently.

"You're adorable when you beg, Erik."

"I am never adorable, Madame."

"Well _I_ disagree."

With his bottom lip puffed out in that way he does when he's at a loss for words, Erik gawked at me. He shifted on the chaise, redistributing my weight from one leg to the other. He was far too much of a gentleman to tell me that I was getting heavy.

I relieved Erik's lap of my cumbersome body and bent to kiss him full on the lips effectively erasing his pout. "It's late and I need to dress for the day. And I need to pen a note to Mary Ann. I want her to know that I've invited a houseguest for the next two weeks. You may take the room next to mine, the one with the large oak writing desk. I'll have Bastion take your belongings up," I said.

"I'll not be sharing your bedchamber?" Again the pout, now coupled with a frown.

"Erik, this morning's lusty romp aside, we're not engaged at the moment. Give me a chance to clear my head will you? Impatient man," I implored while backing out of the library, quickly curtailing any protest on his part.

Thumbing through my meager selection of maternity garments hanging in the bedroom wardrobe, my mind occupied more with Erik than clothing, I pulled out a dove gray day dress of finely woven wool, and made a haphazard attempt at dressing for the day.

_He's really here. _

Could I admit to myself that a part of me had wanted Erik to find me, wanted him to need me, to love me?

And what of Christine? Damn it, I wanted her to know that she had lost and I had won in her bid for Erik's love.

Where was she now, in her luxurious town home or off to sing at the opera? A plan began to form in my mind, not an extraordinarily devious one, but one which I felt would have a negative affect on the sensibilities of most women.

After dressing, I hastily scribbled out a note to Mary Ann about Erik's return, our mutual olive branch and my reconsideration of his proposal. I reassured her that it was not my brain gone soft, but the realization of the truth that influenced my turn about concerning Erik. Considering the scandalous liaisons littering the famous author's reputation, I sincerely doubted that she would mind me allowing him to stay at the cottage for a few weeks.

I secured the envelope with my personal seal, a purplish 'T' for Thomassen, and set out to locate Bastion with instructions that he take it to the post as soon as possible. I'd wondered if Madame Evans might come calling once she received my correspondence.

When I popped my head into the small library, I discovered Erik reading _The Times_, which had arrived with the morning post. His countenance was dark.

"Something troubling in the news?" I enquired.

"She's in London."

"She?"

"Christine."

"No shit!" I blurted out.

"Indeed." He waggled the paper at me. "The Comtess de Chagny is to attend the opening night of some operetta at _Her Majesty's Theatre_. I never knew Christine to be much for light musical theatre," he snorted.

"Did you ever know much about her, Erik?"

"I suppose not." The sinister gleam returned for an instant. "Shall I pay the dear girl a visit while she's in the city; impress upon her the imprudence of her recent enterprise?" Erik crushed a corner of the paper in his fist.

I made my way to the desk where he sat and laid my hands upon his shoulders. "That explosive temper of yours might get in the way. After all, your wounds are still fresh." I reasoned with what I hoped was a soothing tone, and massaged his tight muscles. Erik relaxed beneath my touch.

"I hate it when your wisdom surpasses my ambition. Must you pour water on the coals of my enthusiasm, Gabrielle?"

"Are you speaking of revenge or a good shagging?" I swatted him playfully on the shoulder.

"Really, Madame!"

I moved away from his retaliatory swat at my bottom and took a seat in the arm chair to his left.

"Listen, I think I've come up with a fine way to bring the Comtess down a notch or two, but you must promise to allow me to handle the details."

Erik swung his torso around to face me and settled one arm casually over the back of the desk chair.

"I'll consider your proposal only on the condition that it offers no danger to your or the babe."

"I don't see how it could, and naturally I'll require your involvement," I added knowing that my request would be please him. "I think you'll like what I've cooked up."

Erik lifted his hand in a graceful gesture, bidding me to unfurl my plans for avenging the considerable damage done to our love affair at the hands of the Comtess de Chagny.

- () -

_**Reviewers, you all crack me up with your ideas for Christine; Ex-Lax in the brownies, naked on stage (lots of those suggestions) from public humiliation to the Punjab. Remember even though he gets the itch, Erik's no longer a violent man. Thank you sincerely for reading my story and for the reviews. Keep it up.**_

_**-Leesa**_


	79. Ch 79 79 Act I

**_Welcome new reviewers and readers. Thanks for the entertaining revenge ideas; Erik throwing his voice to sound like Cartman from SP, pot-brownies, nekkid on stage, etc. I've got some real psycho's for readers ; )_**

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**Ch 79 Act I**

The stage was set, let the play begin.

Tonight Erik would pay a visit to Christine Comtess de Chagny. He would profess his unyielding love for her and beg forgiveness for his boorish behavior during his previous visit to her Paris home the prior fall.

I eyed my candle-lit reflection in the mirror of my bedroom vanity. A drab olive dress, just a tad too tight in the middle, a pair of scuffed slippers and no make-up to hide the spring allergy induced dark circles beneath my eyes created a pitiable image.

"Perfect," I chirped and patted my stomach.

"Perfectly dreadful. Wherever did you dredge up that unflattering frock, Gabrielle?" Erik asked.

"Charity from Madame Bodichon's maternity collection. My girth grew so fast when I arrived at the cottage that I could not sew new clothes fast enough, so Barbara lent me a few of things from her last pregnancy, which I believe was a good twenty years ago."

Behind me stood Erik, elegant in his dark evening tails, white shirt and black cravat. He was clean shaven and smelled of spices, his only adornment, a diamond pin securing his cravat and the white mask. Even though I preferred seeing him without the mask, I had to admit that there was something mysteriously alluring in seeing him with that slash of gleaming leather over the right side of his face. The whole Phantom of the Opera fantasy I supposed.

I leaned back against him and closed my eyes. He responded by slipping his warm hands over mine.

"You smell divine, Erik—way too enticing for a visit to the other woman. I'm not sure I like it very well," I teased.

"If it causes you discomfort, we do not have to see this through," he offered.

Even now, Erik had trouble discerning my jests.

"Oh, I trust you implicitly—and I _insist_ this be done."

"You're certain our contrivance will not cause you undue duress, Gabrielle? I'll not have you taxing yourself. You're condition is delicate."

I could not help but smile at Erik's tender, if not overwrought concern.

"Dear Erik, at this moment women are birthing babies while they work in the fields. They nurse their newborn, place him in a basket and promptly resume working. A smidgen of dramatic folly is like a walk in the park to a healthy woman like me," I reassured him.

"Do promise me you'll take no chances," he said gravely.

"I promise, cross my heart."

"And Erik?"

"Yes, my dove," he said toying with a lock of hair that had escaped from my loose bun.

"I've come to a conclusion."

"A conclusion pertaining to what my dear?" Erik peered over my head into the vanity mirror and adjusted the tasteful diamond pin securing his cravat.

"To your latest proposal of marriage."

The room became very quiet. Erik continued to fuss with his cravat until it lay in just the right fold to please his immaculate taste.

"And your conclusion, will it have a positive affect or a negative on my countenance?"

"After an agonizing internal struggle and monumental soul searching, I believe that my decision will be to the benefit of us all." I slid my hands from beneath his and turned, wrapping my arms about his slender waist.

"You make it sound as if I offered you a business proposal rather than one for marriage, Gabrielle." Erik's eyes traveled from his mirrored image to my upturned face.

"Erik, marriage is about more than mere sexual passion and love, it is a partnership. Would you wish to make a lifetime pledge with someone who you were not certain would make a suitable partner? I think not and neither would you. Stop frowning will you, I haven't given my answer."

"Well then, out with it." His face grew stoic and he appeared to be holding his breath.

"So serious my strong, silent man," I said, laying my right hand against his chest.

"Erik, marriage is difficult, people are difficult, but in all my years on this earth, in both centuries, I've not met anyone like you."

"Most people are scarcely tolerable at best," he grumbled. "Present company excluded, naturally." Erik captured my hand in his, kissed it and brought it up to rest against his heart.

"As far as men go, you are a prince--one of few who haven't tried to change me. Oh my reasons for loving you could fill the Vatican, what I'm getting to is, yes, Erik, I want to marry you."

Erik smiled. The one corner of his eye crinkled in a show of genuine happiness. His hands drifted back down to my barely discernible waist, holding me as if I was made of blown glass.

Unshed tears glistened in his eyes.

"You want to marry me," he whispered.

"Absolutely."

"I fear I am not prepared, your ring, I—it's in the breast pocket of my day coat, upstairs in the guest room. I had it last night, but you made me wait—"

I placed two fingers across his lips. "It's okay; my love does not hinge on whether or not I have a fancy rock on my finger, but I must tell you, my ring finger has felt awfully naked these past few months."

"As has my heart. Gabrielle, marry me and I swear on my very soul that I shall learn what it is to be a good man and the best of husbands—and of fathers."

"I know you will. And Erik, I am sorry about your having to chase me about Europe. Forgive me?"

"Only if you forgive me."

"Obviously I already have, why else would I agree to be your wife, silly?" I chided.

He blinked at me before realizing that I was trying to lighten the mood. "Silly indeed Madame. I am of the opinion that we should celebrate our reunion with a bit of silliness between the sheets of your bed. I'm nearly bursting from the abstinence." His jade eyes turned a dark, smoky green, indicating the sincerity of his suggestion.

"Good heavens man, what did you do while I was away, or do I want to know?"

"I shall have you know I pined for you like a lovesick moose, although I never once taking my flesh into my own hands."

_I can't say the same_; I thought issuing a brief un-lady like snort and slapping my hand over my mouth.

"Lovesick moose, you? That I'd like to have seen."

"I daresay I find no humor in my admittance, Gabrielle."

"I missed you too. Your melodious voice, your droll wit, your friendship, your persuasive jade eyes."

"That is all?"

"Let's see, I also missed the touch of your fine hands and those passionate kisses from your lips. Oh yes, I nearly forgot, the inner caress of your most talented phallus."

His only eyebrow rose in a questionable 'oh' at the same moment an impish grin curled at the corner of his lips.

Our re-dedication ignited within me a fresh burst of affection. Brazenly, I leaned my hips into his hardened groin and brushed my lips against his warm cheek.

"I so love you, Erik," my happiness now marred only by the appearance of tears blurring the edge of my vision.

"I know."

Normally I had an aversion to cheesy romantic cliché, but when Erik gathered me into his arms and swept me over to the bed, I became willing putty in his masterful hands.

"Do you believe in fate or coincidence, Erik?"

"I suppose some occurrences are orchestrated by forces of nature," He mussed thoughtfully. "Why do you ask darling?"

"Think on it; Christine is in London for a special performance at the exact time you are only miles up the road in Hastings. Perfect timing I'd say." I patted my matronly up do back into place then assisted Erik in re-affixing his diamond pin to his the cravat that I'd nearly ripped from his neck during our quick romp on the bed.

"Perhaps your God is finally smiling his good fortune on us," replied Erik.

"Perhaps."

He swatted playfully at my rump, missing by a hand as I swung out of his way.

"We'd best make haste, my dear. The train leaves Hastings in twenty minutes. This is an opportunity not to miss," he said.

We made our way down the back stairwell leading to the small driveway on the southern side of the cottage where Bastion waited for us in the Bodichon's Brougham. Erik helped me with my cloak before heading out into the night for a visit to the dressing room of a certain diva.

The train to London flew, by nineteenth century standards, into the city in just under three hours. From Victoria Station we hired a driver to take us to _Her Majesty's Opera House, _in the heart of the theatre district.

Conversation was sparse within the dark confines of our coach. Erik and I sat nestled together. In a show of protectiveness, Erik draped an arm around my shoulders and I burrowed my head into his cashmere clad chest as we jostled and bounced over the cobblestone streets.

"Remember when you taught me a lesson concerning jealousy from the confines of my Brougham, Gabrielle?" Erik said with warm amusement.

"You were very naughty that day, Erik. Thinking I was toying with that little fellow in the dressmaker's shop. I like men a bit more…virile." I squeezed his hand.

"Virile. I quite like your flattered classification of my person, darling," growled Erik, nuzzling my neck in that way that said, _I want you_.

"No way, buster, I'm way too big to reenact such acrobatics now. Besides, we just—"

"We certainly did. You're a lusty woman, Gabrielle; I cannot help but to desire you."

"You only love me for the booty, Erik," I sniffed playfully.

"I love you for everything that you are and everything that we are, all of it."

"Remember your words after we've been married for a while." I said.

"Pardon moi?"

Conversation ceased when we'd noticed that the coachman had slowed his horse to an easy trot, a sure signal that the theatre was near by. I peeked from behind the velvet curtain. Scores of lavishly dressed Londoner's were busy disembarking from their fine coaches for a night of levity and music. Many came to see the beautiful and elusive Christine dazzle them with a sublime musical selection during a special intermission.

"Okey dokey," I said to Erik, letting the curtain flutter close, "I think we're here."

"Nervous, darling?" he asked.

"Slight performance anxiety—I'll be fine once your cue sends my adrenaline pumping," I said reassuring him.

"And you?"

"I relish the opportunity to look the little tart in the eyes and betray her with a smile."

"Erik, you're into this way too much."

"Nonsense. The first time I let Christine ruin my life, I was the primary culprit, this time it is she who nearly ruined my one happiness. I'll not allow her thoughtful deed go unnoticed _this_ time around."

Erik's jaw was set into a steely smirk. I watched him work his leather clad hands into anxious fists. I snatched up one of his hands and stuck it on my belly.

"There, feel your son playing kick ball with my spleen," I said in an attempt to take the edge off of his vengeful mood.

Joyful enthusiasm swiftly replaced scorn when Erik spread his palm against my side, feeling the movement of our child.

"Ah, the little one is most active tonight. Could that be a foot there or a hand? Yes, a hand, why I believe he's composing his first aria right in your womb, Gabrielle."

"You wish, daddy. He's very dependable. Our tiny man starts grooving at about the same time every night."

"I've noticed your insistence upon calling the babe a 'he', how can you know?"

"Well, the usual way in my century of origin is by ultrasound, the method I detailed for you yesterday. Since we've none of that technology at our disposal here, I use my feminine intuition." I flashed him my most mysterious Mona Lisa smile.

In truth, I did not know how I knew, I just _knew_. Somewhere within my subconscious mind, errant pieces of information gleaned from my freshman music history class floated around in the gray matter. I did recall reading that the composer, Erik DuPuis, had a wife who'd given him at least two children, a boy and a girl. I saw no need in telling Erik that I knew these facts, it was no stretch to believe that if I did, he'd drive me nuts prying at my brain for additional details about his future.

Our driver freed the latch and the door opened, exposing us to the misty London evening.

"Ready, my sweet?" Erik asked.

"Ready!" I replied confidently.

Erik hopped off of the bench and into the street; he pivoted and extended his arm up to me. The entire move was considerably graceful and I giggled when he brought my gloved hand to his lips for a dramatic kiss.

"Madame, until I see you again."

Erik made a hasty exit into the night while I remained hidden in the interior shadows of the carriage.

The plan was for me to allow Erik ten minutes headway before I entered the opera house. And boy did the time creep by. Deep breathing exercise and pondering baby names kept me occupied. I'd become so engrossed in my thoughts that the coachman scared the living hell out of me when he rapped on the door.

"Ten minutes has passed, Madame. Would you be ready now?" he inquired.

I allowed the man to help me out of the conveyance. Picking up my skirts, I made my way up the theatre steps and into the brightly lit red interior of one of England's most historic opera houses.

As the trap door lover, Erik, always made it his business to discover the layout of any place he visited. Thus, I already knew I would find the main dressing rooms the left side of the building, accessible via a hallway off of the main corridor.

Once inside the theatre, I disappeared into the rush of patrons hurrying to their seats and plush boxes. I'd been a reporter so long that, for me, sneaking and snooping had become an art form. Slipping around the ushers and into the cloistered environment of the performers was easy. Within five minutes of entering the building, I'd located the main dressing rooms.

The trick now was finding the one containing Christine.

I interrupted a dancer on her way backstage. " 'Cuse me Miss, I'm Madame Chagny's personal seamstress and I've a last minute adjustment for 'er gown. These dressing rooms all look alike to me and I'm afraid that I can't remember which one belongs to me mistress." I said in my best cockney accent.

Irritated by my interruption she replied tersely, "There, that one," and pointed to the door at the head of the hall.

"Thank ye, kindly." The dancer was off before I'd completed my curtsy.

I sucked in a calming breath and put my ear against the door.

From within I could hear Erik's rich tenor addressing Christine; "Oh, my angel, my darling Christine, when I returned to DuPuis Manor and found that Gabrielle had deserted me, my heart became filled not with regret, but with relief at the discovery. I realized then that you are my true and only love. And what good fortune to find you in London when I am also in the Queen's city for a business matter! It is undoubtedly fate, do you not agree?"

"Undoubtedly," I heard Christine gush in lilting French. "Oh Erik, how I grieved for you when you left. I feared we'd be parted forever."

_Grrr. _

The baby made an impressive aerobic move and I patted my bump. _Patience love, it won't be long now before we play our little trick on the mean noblewoman._

"How blind I was to spurn you. Never again will we be parted, but spend an eternity soaring to the heavens on the wings of my musical genius and your magnificent voice. If only you'll say yes to my proposal," Erik said. A ruse or not, hearing my lover speaking such words to her made me wince.

_Blah, blah, blah, Erik, get on with it would ya?_ I whispered to the thick dressing room door.

"I sent you a letter. Meg had informed me of Gabrielle's flight and how distraught you'd become. I-I only thought of your happiness, Erik," Christine said.

_Yarf_.

"Yes, about the possibility of Gabrielle being here, in London. Your concern for my well-being warmed my heart. But I no longer care about that coarse American woman. It is you, my gentle lady, who stirs me," Erik continued.

At the sound of my cue, I counted to ten and burst into Christine's dressing room sending the door cracking loudly against the wall.

"You evil woman!" I spat. "_The Times_ said you'd be here, so naturally I assumed Erik would follow like a love-sick cur."

Erik had Christine in his arms and was dipping her back for a kiss. She whipped her head toward me. Her eyes were wide with fright.

"G-Gabrielle?"

"Shut-up you little pop-tart," I snarled.

"What in God's name are you doing here? I thought I told you to _never_ again cast your shadow upon me. I do not want you." Erik's voice dripped with contempt.

I revealed the small derringer I'd been hiding behind my back and waved it at the two of them. Christine blanched so badly that a ghost's complexion would have paled in comparison.

Erik released Christine; pushing her out of the bullet's path should I decide to shoot her.

"And you, duplicitous demon, you had your way with me then dumped me to fend for myself," I hissed at him and addressed Christine once more.

"Why so surprised, Madame? Have you never seen a pregnant woman before?"

At the utterance of a word not spoken in polite society, Christine's eyes grew even larger. She gawked at my twenty four week old baby bump, gasped, and then cast a quick glance at Erik.

"Make no mistake, it's definitely _his_ child."

I quickly changed my tone from enraged to pleadingly pitiful. "Erik, why, oh, why did you put me out? I did everything for you. I fed you, cleaned your house, cooked your meals, why I-I even gave you my body any time you required the use of it. Then you left me. You said you loved me, you lied!" I sobbed and pointed the pistol at him.

"Insane twit, you could be carrying anyone's child for all I know. I do not want you, Gabrielle. Leave us this instant!"

"Cruel, evil man," I sniffled back mock tears then eyed Christine.

"Madame, in spite of the filth he spews, I've been with no man other than him. Erik and I, we were to be married until he found _you_ again. You, with your beauty and your voice, so talented, so wealthy—a woman with such grand attributes could have anyone in all of Europe. Please, please, I beg you, kind lady, leave my Erik alone." I implored her, this time real tears streamed down my face.

She switched her attention from me to Erik. "Could this be true? Are you the father of her unborn child Erik?"

"I suppose it is possible," he said nonchalantly. "But how do I know you've not spent your nights warming the beds of other men, Gabrielle?"

"How could you say something so-so, awful? Erik, you are the only man to touch me since my dear departed husband. It is your baby that I carry, I swear it!"

Christine cast him an accusatory look and he shrugged, "It is of no consequence to me. I do not love the woman."

"If I cannot have you, than you both shall die for your dereliction." I was back to being crazy Gabrielle now. It took a great deal of discipline not to break out laughing when a terrified

Christine grabbed onto Erik and clung to him for dear life.

Erik glared down his nose at me with an arctic stare.

"I loved you, Erik; I would never have deserted you the way _she_ deserted you." I scowled at Christine hoping to rub salt into an old wound.

"What do you want, money? I'll give you all you want if you leave us alone forever."

"What I want, I cannot have; therefore, no one shall have you." I aimed the small pistol at Erik.

Erik lurched forward in a fruitless attempt to subdue me. I fired. A pop and a puff of smoke sent Christine shrieking to her knees. A red stain blossomed from beneath Erik's dark tail coat and spread across his cream colored waist coat. He clutched at his chest and fell to the floor.

Hovering over Erik's limp body, Christine gaped at me in horror and struggled to lift him into her arms. "I fear you've killed him you mad woman!"

"Erik, Erik, darling, speak please—my God! Help us."

The Comtess was frantic. Tears wet her pale cheeks and she looked down at Erik mournfully.

"Shut yer yap, bitch. You stole my man and now you are gonna pay for it. Say your prayers, Comtess." I aimed the gun at her.

"Please, do not harm me. I could not help myself, when I heard that Erik had found a love and I was alone, well, I recalled the mystical bond we once shared and I imagined that I could rekindle the fire which once consumed our souls. I did not know you were with child, Gabrielle, honestly, I would never endeavor to separate a child from its parents. I love Erik too much to do such a thing."

"Whatever," I brushed off her fervent appeal and cocked the trigger.

"Have mercy, sweet mercy, dear woman," she continued to wail. "I beg your forgiveness for my behavior if only you will spare me my life."

While groveling, Christine crawled toward me on hands and knees. I smiled wickedly and laughed. "You'd appreciate my compassion now would you not? Where was your compassion when you campaigned for my fiancée?"

"I—I'm grievously sorry, truly, truly sorry for the pain and heartache I have caused you, Gabrielle. Do not kill me, a mother spending life imprisoned for murder is not a burden one's child should live with."

"I do see your point, Madame, but I fear that at this very moment, my anguish prevents me from engaging compassion for the likes of you. Harlot, whore, man stealer."

I pulled the trigger.

Like a marionette with severed strings, Christine crumpled into a heap on the dressing room floor.

- () -

**_I urge everyone to review for me, event a few words are appreciated._**

_**Thanks Amy for the beta work. Barb, I hope you get your power back soon (yarf!).**_

_**-Leesa**_


	80. Ch 80 Absolution

**_Welcome new readers and reviewers. It's so cool to hear from you (especially if you've been lurking for a while). Thanks to my fine beta's Barb and Amy. (Thanks Barb for the line too!)_**

**Ch 80 Absolution**

"Good grief, she's fainted!" I cried.

"What did you expect would happen when you pointed the derringer at her and pulled the trigger?" Erik sat up and looked at me.

"On the dressing table you should find a bottle of smelling salts," he directed.

I looked about and spied the mirrored vanity to my left. Huge bouquets of roses surrounded it. Various bottles and lotions littered the top. I fumbled through the diva's cosmetics, managing only to send puffs of perfumed dust everywhere when I knocked over a box of dusting powder.

"What does it look like?"

"About the size of a medicine vial and brown, yes, there it is at your right elbow, Gabrielle. Open it and wave the contents beneath Christine's nose."

Obeying Erik's commands, I hurried to the crumbled heap that was Christine and knelt by her head. I held the small bottle under her nose and found that she was still breathing. Thank God, she'd not suffered heart failure, I only wanted to scare the poodily out of her, not kill the woman. Christine hiccupped and coughed at the smell of the potion. Her eyes fluttered open. She could only muster enough strength to stare up at us from the dressing room floor where she lay prostrate.

"I-I am truly not dead? She rose to one elbow, checked out her gown, and cast an astonished look at Erik, "You're not dead. Christine wore the expression of a princess newly awoken from an enchanted slumber.

"No. Christine, we are very much alive. You see, Gabrielle's gun was loaded with stage blanks."

"But Erik, there's blood on your chest—" she whimpered. Terror seeped from her every pore.

"Beneath my shirt is a bladder of stage blood. When Gabrielle pulled the trigger I simultaneously pulled a string running from my chest to my hand, thus expelling the blood onto my garments."

Christine gaped at us. Her mind grappled with the scene before her. Slowly her features began to change with the realization that the man she loved and his fiancée had hoodwinked her.

"Yes, Christine, I daresay you've been tricked," said Erik.

"B-But, why?"

"You really must ask?" Erik snorted incredulously.

Again, the doe-eyed blank stare.

"Allow me to refresh your memory, dear."

Erik reached into the right side of his coat and withdrew Christine's letter. He shook out the mutilated parchment and held it before her. "Does this ring a bell?"

At first, she affected the innocent gaze of ignorance, but when Erik did not relent, the little diva began to scoot on her bottom across the floor in an attempt to put distance between her and the tormenting letter.

"You think I had something to do with that letter? I could never have—"

"Do not dare lie to me!" Erik clambered to his feet and shook his fist in rage at the terrified Christine.

"Had Gabrielle's mind not been clouded by the physical and emotional fog of her circumstances, she would have figured out you deplorable deception immediately. When I saw this note, I asked myself, '_who owns a typewriter? Of course, Madame Chagny has one in on her secretary_.' As for forging my name, it is a simple enough task for a child."

Christine pulled a handkerchief from her bosom and held it to her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle a sob.

"Cease the dramatics, will you? Thanks to your thoughtful and, I dare say, guilt infused tip, I found my beloved Gabrielle here in England. Fortunately, she had the good mind to hold on to your counterfeit correspondence."

Christine shivered at the realization that her ruse was truly exposed.

"The game you've chosen to play is a most dangerous one, Madame Chagny. Have the years dulled your memory of how difficult it is to trick me? You forget dear, the Phantom sees all, knows all," Erik said evenly.

"I—I meant no harm, honestly. I have always loved you, Erik. Please, have mercy on my crimes of passion," she pled in earnest.

"This woman here, she cannot possible love you as I do. What do you have in common? The woman does not sing; she's not even a French citizen. Oh, Erik, no other woman can know you as I do."

"You know nothing!" Erik spat.

"She could never be to you what I am, your Angel of Music," Christine's impassioned reasoning had little affect on Erik.

"There's where you are correct in your assessment, Christine. Gabrielle is not my angel of music; she is the angel of my _life_."

Slowly I rose to take his outstretched hand.

"Gabrielle carries my child, Christine. I would never abandon her for anyone, ever. Not even for you. I know your heart is empty after losing your husband, but I am not the one you want."

"But you are. To move forward with my life—it is not so simple a prospect, Erik. I have only my young son, Gustav, of whom I never see for he is away at the academy most of the time. Besides Raoul's steel handed old Aunt Beatrice, I've nothing but my title and wealth left me by my dead husband."

It had only been a short time since the accident that claimed Raoul's young life. Christine did not seem to me the sort of woman who dealt well with loneliness. Having been an orphan, she was certain to have abandonment issues.

"Christine, you have your talent, your beauty and your youth. For you, mingling in society is not so hard. And of all people, you should know that Erik's life hasn't been easy. He's struggled with the inequities of mankind since birth. He and I share more similarities than you can ever fathom. I'm sorry for you, really I am, but you will love again," I said to her.

"W-What, pray tell, do you want from me?"

Erik pulled up a wooden chair and sat down with his legs crossed observing her.

"A simple apology; that is what we want."

"An apology?" she was dumbfounded by the simplicity of his request.

"Why so surprised, Christine? You claim to know me well, yet you do not realize that I no longer kill people for their foolishness." Erik addressed Christine with a chilling sort of congeniality.

"Apologize for stealing my letter to Gabrielle and swapping it out with yours, for the strife you've caused us both, and for making me search five long months for my fiancée who thought that I'd abandoned her for you." This time he growled at her and leaned forward. The cold glint of anger shone in his eyes.

I felt Erik had scared Christine enough for one lifetime; I stepped closer to the frightened diva, and interrupted his grilling.

"Christine, look, you seem like a nice lady, under normal circumstances that is, not one who goes about destroying the happiness of others for selfish gain. Didn't that triangle with the Vicomte and Erik all those years ago teach you any lessons?"

"I suffered the same fate under his hands. He made me love him." Her arm trembled as she lifted it to point an accusatory finger at Erik.

"Guilty as charged, Madame. I was in the wrong. I did not know that I could not force you to love me." I was relieved to see him backing off a bit form his angry Erik routine.

"Christine, I make my sincere apologies for introducing such torment into your young life, but I cannot go backward, only forward, which is what I have endeavored to do these past six years. And I suggest you do the same," said Erik.

Christine had managed to squirm backwards across the floor and now sat wedged up against the front of an enormous trunk. Being able to go no further, she bent her knees, scooped up her skirts and attempted to stand, but found her legs undependable. I broke away from Erik to lend her an arm to lean on and helped her to the chair at her dressing table. Christine's face, already made up for the stage, bore streaks of mascara through the greasepaint. She definitely needed a touch up.

A sudden, loud knock hit the dressing room door effectively yanking the three of out from our state of inquietude.

"Comtess, the performance has begun, you'll have one and one half an hour before you go on," a man's voice advised.

"Yes, thank you, Spector," she called back to the voice at the door.

"_Please_, Erik." Christine's request was charged with ambiguous emotion.

"Apologize to Gabrielle and we shall take our leave," Erik reminded her. "As for me, I've no need of your regrets."

"Yes, yes, I only thought of my loneliness and my love for Erik, for our memory. I thought that since he had become a respected composer and architect, perhaps he had made peace with his hatred of society. Therefore, we would have an excellent chance of living a good life together." Christine implored me with her eyes, then set about studying her hands.

With a quiver in her voice, she continued. "The idea that Erik had found another never entered my mind. I wish you no ill will Madame Thomassen. I have done a deplorable thing. Forgive me, forgive my selfish deeds."

Great tears of regret flowed from her pretty eyes. I was not certain if it was fear or true regret that urged on this emotional display, but I was pleased for the personal apology."

"I beg for merciful forgiveness for my grievous actions. I fear I am in dire need of absolution for my sins." Christine hung her head.

"Apology accepted, Madame," I said gently.

I felt sorry for her. Christine was not by nature a mean creature, she was simply distraught with grief and confused. In her mind she saw Erik pining away for her to return to him, another woman never entered her thoughts.

"I should not wish to cross paths with you again, Madame." Erik addressed Christine with the solemnity of a priest giving last rites.

He extended his arm and smiled at me lovingly. "My sweet? Let us take leave of Madame Chagny."

I came to him like a dove returning home, softly, willingly, entwining our gloved hands together.

"My lover," I said.

"Adieu, Madame." Erik bowed briefly to Christine then ushered me out of her dressing room.

That night we considered returning to Hastings, but I convinced Erik to stop by Mary Ann's town house first. Calling unannounced was considered poor taste by most of polite society, but I knew Mary Ann would be delighted to see me.

Begrudgingly, Erik acquiesced. We found the author and her husband in residence. Fashionable Europeans take supper at an hour much later than I preferred, but tonight I welcomed the practice. Erik and I had arrived on Mary Ann and George's doorstep just in time for the evening meal, and although I was excruciatingly tired, we'd not eaten since leaving for London and I was famished.

Anxious to hear the juicy details of our love life and of our ensuing comeuppance upon the Comtess de Chagny, they graciously invited us in for supper and insisted that we stay the night.

Between bites of a deliciously prepared quail à la orange, I recounted the evening's activities with Erik interjecting a comment from time to time.

"Oh horrors!" May Ann exclaimed with glee. "I cannot imagine the Comtess' considerable fear when you brandished a weapon at her. The dear must have peed her unmentionables  
"No doubt of it," I chuckled.

"Ladies, please," Erik protested, shocked by the vulgar turn of our conversation.

"Well, all I know is she was humiliated on top of getting a good scare. Having to face the man, she'd claimed to love and his fiancée enceinte. Poor thing probably thought, 'great, now Erik has a woman as devious as he.' Paris beware!"

"You two Machiavellian characters should consider yourselves fortunate that an opera house is rife with noise, else someone would have heard the sound of your gun and come nosing about," said Mary Ann said, admonishing us for our chancy shenanigans.

"Erik knows the ins and outs of opera life, Mary Ann." I winked at my lover sitting next to me and imagined that Erik knew every nook, cranny and mouse infested corner of every theatre in Europe.

After hearing the sordid tale of Christine's evil doing, Mary Ann forgave Erik for his previously loutish dealings with me and welcomed him back into the fold of her artistic circle. Not that he cared a whit, but her graciousness put me at ease as I cherished both her friendship and the love of my soon-to-be husband  
"So, now you have reconciled your differences and the wedding is on once more. Splendid for you both. Have you set another date as of yet?"

"The moment our train pulls into the station in Paris, we'll make our way to the registry office. I have with me the papers from before," Erik replied.

Taken aback by this amazing bit of news, I cast him a sideways glance. "You brought my papers and the marriage license with you to London? Confident I would say 'yes' were you, monsieur?"

"That or I would kidnap you, drag you back to Paris and marry you anyway." Erik flashed me a smile loaded with fiendish intent.

Mary Ann and had a jolly laugh at Erik's droll humor. I wasn't so sure he was joking.

My adrenaline rush had abated long ago and by the time dessert and sherry were served, I was wilting in my chair.

Exhausted, I turned to Erik. "I'm really very tired. Do you mind terribly if I turn in for the night, darling?"

"Of course not," he replied, rubbing my back affectionately, and addressed our hosts. "I too think I shall call it a night, if you'll excuse us from your fine company, Madame and Monsieur."

"Please, take your rest dears. You've had quite a journey of emotions this evening. You may occupy the blue guest room again if you like. Gabrielle knows where it is. I expect you'll wish to occupy the room in tandem."

Erik, not accustomed to gracious consideration from others, much less the suggestion that we, an unmarried couple, sleep in the same bed, blinked, stiffened and turned a rosy shade of red.

"Beg your pardon, Madame?" The words fell from his mouth a little too fast.

"Gabrielle and you will wish to be together, will you not?" said Mary Ann with the nonchalance of a woman still not legally married to her dear George.

"You'd have to pry me from his side tonight, Mary Ann."

Speaking softly, I curbed my amusement at my fiancé's modesty, rose from the divan and cocked my head at Erik. "Come, sweetheart, it's been a long day and I'm exhausted from our opera drama."

He nodded, stood, bid his hosts good night and trailed behind me up the stairs to the same guest room where I'd spent my first nights away from my lover last fall.

No lovemaking occurred that night, it wasn't even attempted, a phenomenon for my ever randy Erik.

The morning dawned sunny and unseasonably warm for an English spring day. Waking early from slumber, I crept from the bed and dressed so Erik could sleep. Poor dear, every time I got up to use the water closet in the night, I caught him snoring; a sure sign of his exhaustion.

When I arrived at the breakfast table, Mary Ann sat alone, spectacles perched on her nose, reading the paper and sipping a cup of tea. Plates of crumpets, scones, marmalade, butter and other breakfast goodies dotted the sideboard behind her chair.

"Good day, my dear. I trust you slept well?" she said cheerily.

"As well as this little guy allowed me to," I smiled, patting my belly.

"Breakfast?"

"Absolutely." I was always hungry these days.I chose the seat directly across from her.

"Our maid is out today, so were forced to fend for ourselves, I'm afraid."

"Pity," I answered with a wry smile. I knew Mary Ann and George were not addicted to the usual ceremony of high born British life.

"Has George headed out into the day already?" I asked.

"Actually, he is still in the bed and feeling rather puny."

"Gall stones again is it?"

"I'm afraid so, poor dear." She frowned.

"Have him drink red wine and plenty of tea with lemon (cranberry juice was preferable for dissolving gall stones, but one could not simply run to the market for a jug of the acidic juice).

"Red wine you say. I must relay your advice to George, but tea with lemon rather than cream, he'd never agree to that—not very British."

I smiled. "I understand, but do have him drink the red wine. When I lived in America, a doctor friend of my father's recommended it for his gall stones and it worked wonders."

Mary Ann's long time love and common law husband, Georges Lewes, would live only another six months before succumbing to gallbladder disease. I knew this historical fact, but would never tell my famous friend as there were no cures for it at that time.

"Oh, here, my dear," said Mary Ann, switching subjects. "I've taken the liberty of saving the front page for you, dear." She plucked the front section of _The Times_ from her side of the table and handed it to me.

"Why, how thoughtful," I said, receiving the paper from Mary Ann's out stretched arm. My assumption was that, as a journalist, she imagined I would be interested in the day's news.

I lay the paper next to my plate so I could butter a scone as I read.

"Whoa." I placed the half eaten scone on my plate.

A third of the way down the front page, a headline blared, '**Noble Diva's Performance a Royal Disaster at Her Majesty's Opera House**.' Beneath the caption, a grainy picture of Christine peered out at me. She wore an exquisite evening gown and from the smile on her lips, I deduced that it was from a previous occasion, what journalists called a stock photo, not from last night.

The gist of the article was that she had suffered a hideous headache and was unable to even stand, much less push her vocal prowess to the heights of a gifted, celebrated soprano. The demanding crowd grumbled loudly following the evening's performance, many demanding a partial refund of their admission.

"Loyal bunch of blue nose, s aren't they," I snorted disdainfully.

When I looked from the paper, Marry Ann was smiling. "What else can I fetch you for breakfast, dear?" she asked sweetly.

"Nothing, thank you, I believe I've had my just deserts."

**- () -**

_**Please review. Now, on to the next chapter!**_

_**-Leesa**_


	81. Ch 81 Act II

**_Again, more helpful, supportive and amusing reviews for the last chapter. Thanks! I am amazed at the number of new readers this story has picked up. Thank you Barb the beta and thank you dear readers for supporting this fic._**

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**Chapter 81 Act II**

"Poor dear, Christine never did have affinity for competition. But she is a survivor, she'll recover form her fall-eventually. Fortunately, the Comtess is no longer my concern," Erik remarked when I showed him the front page of the morning paper.

"She paid for the wicked trick she played on you and Gabrielle. We all believed you to be a libertine of a man. Bessie wanted to tie you to a tree and separate you from your manhood," Mary Ann added with a twitch of a smile on her lips.

"Madame! Such thoughts from intelligent, gentlewomen."

"What, only men can entertain thoughts of a vengeance?" shot Mary Ann.

"The new breed of female frightens me greatly, madame." he said, straight faced.

"Oh pooh, Erik. You enjoy it when I'm riled up. You'd be bored to baldness with a groveling boot licker of a wife and you know it," I said.

"True, I much prefer my fierce and lusty lioness," Erik replied as he leaned toward me and met my gaze. Blatant desire still shone in his eyes.

I smiled appreciatively at my future husband, and unaccustomed to hearing his brash endearments in front of an audience, found that I was blushing.

"Could it be that our Gabrielle is embarrassed?" Mary Ann chided me. "Honestly, I am pleased to see you happy, Gabrielle; a child and then a wedding. How modern you are. When are the nuptials?" she questioned both of us.

I slid a sideways look to Erik, urging him to answer her loaded question.

"Straightaway. Our plan is to find the nearest judge upon our arrival in Paris. This time I'll take no chances with my elusive butterfly." Erik captured my hand in his and brushed his thumb over my knuckles.

"What, and deprive your bride of a proper Christian ceremony?" Mary Ann offered Erik more tea, which he declined with a wave of his hand.

"We'll have a grand celebration at the manor after our child is born-when the weather is more consistent."

"With a Protestant clergyman," I added.

"To please my spiritually minded wife...that is if one can be found in France. We've nothing against Catholics mind you, I was christened one, but I fear their approval of our lifestyle would prevent any pious minded priest to join us in holy matrimony. And naturally, madame, you and Monsieur Lewes are invited."

"A splendid idea, to stave off until your entire family can attend." Mary Ann often approved of unconventional behaviors.

Conversation did not center solely on the fallen Comtess or Erik's appetites. It was agreed upon that while in London, we would pay a visit to Dr. Elizabeth Garrett. From the day Madame Roux informed Erik of my condition, he'd been devouring medical books on the subject of pregnancy and delivery. Erik was eager to speak with Elizabeth about the baby's progress. I needed to find out what he'd gleaned from his studies and adjust his knowledge with mine, as there was a century plus of discrepancies in the majority of the nineteenth century obstetrics.

I was thrilled to have Erik show such a keen interest in the birth of our child. Generally, fathers of his time would rather amputate a leg than to know anything whatsoever about the indelicate subject.

We left the Evan's-Lewe's town home amongst a flurry of verbal blessings, then boarded a small rented carriage for a side trip to the home of Dr. Garrett before making the short trip back to Hastings.

Erik peered out of the cab's tiny window at the streetscapes of London. While I sat next to him wrapped in thought, he occasionally voiced an opinion on a piece of architecture he hadn't noticed on previous trips through the city's cobblestoned streets.

"Erik?"

"Yes, my love?"

"What prompted you to research gestation and birth?"

He turned from the passing scenery to look at me. A gentle frown creased his brow. "I would think most men would care to know all they could about their wife's condition."

"Ha-you'd think."

I smiled and caressed Erik's hand. "You sweet man, up until the middle of the 20th century, most men would rather be hitched to a team of Clydesdales and dragged down a rocky embankment."

"How indelicate-a woman carries a man's offspring for nearly ten months, suffers through the agonizing pain of labor, yet a man cannot even bother himself with the details? Males of our species are an abysmal lot," he huffed.

"Not all of them, Erik. An eternity of progress will be made in the next 128 years. Fathers will attend child birthing classes with their wives and assist in delivery. Americans warmed to this idea a lot sooner than European men did. In the Wild West, men often rolled up their sleeves and served the role of the mid-wife."

"Yes, well, we European men don't fancy getting dirt beneath our finger nails," Erik said with droll humor.

"But not you." I snuggled against him.

"No darling, not me. I've spent nearly 46 years attending to my every need, no matter how distasteful. No mother to bathe me, dress my wounds, wipe my nose or clean up my vomit."

So changing dirty nappies would not be an issue for him, humm? I wondered.

"Didn't your mother have help, a nursemaid perhaps?"

"We had a woman for a while, she took pity on me as an infant and toddler, but as soon as I became a self-sufficient four-year-old, I tended to myself," he snorted, as if such practices were common.

"Beyond amazing," I mused. "If only I could travel farther back in time, I would find you and care for you, Erik. No child should suffer such abuse." I traced the outline of his chin, drawing my finger up to his full lips and he issued a light kiss on my gloved digit.

"Darling Gabrielle, I could not fathom appreciating your loving kindness any more than I do now. In the days you've been beside me, my past wounds have become less painful." Erik smiled down at me. In his eyes, I saw more love than I imagined anyone could hold for another.

My heart ached for this strong, regal man who was so sensitive and wounded, yet possessed the grace and courage to welcome love into his heart once more.

Brave man, I thought. Angling my body to face him, I cradled his face in my hands and rewarded him with a loving kiss; he wound his arms about me, drawing me into a fervent embrace.

Enthusiastic in our kissing, hands began to roam and grasp. Grunts and sighs punctuated the air and soon Erik's hand was beneath my skirts, sliding up my stockinged leg in search of my pot of gold.

"Umf--Erik," I broke free from the zealous kissing. "What I'm sure is on your mind, we cannot do in here, there's no room."

"The hell there isn't." He fingered the folds of my underwear, searching for the opening.

"Erik!" I jumped and giggled when he breeched the slit in my drawers.

"Do stop squirming, Gabrielle."

He quieted me with his fingertips, stroking, taunting and teasing my alert, moist bud. I gave in, relaxed against him and spread my legs.

"Ah, better," Erik nuzzled my neck and murmured a string of blazing hot endearments.

"Gabrielle, petite jeune mariée douce, I am your dog, your humble servant, mon amour."

"I am but yours, monsieur." My hand journeyed down to his bulging hardness. He groaned wantonly.

"Is that all you care to do, tease me?" Erik complained.

"We've room for no more than a quick grope," I answered.

"Free me," Erik demanded.

Obligingly, I popped his trouser buttons from their holes and released his eager friend.

"Sit on me."

"Do _what_? I'll kill myself. I'm six months pregnant. In case you've not noticed, monsieur, I take up more space these days."

"I will hold onto you, darling," Erik assured me as he lifted me up by the top of my hips and urged me on. He extended his legs, braced his feet against the base of the opposing seat and wrapped his other arm around my back to hold me in place.

"Je veux au va te faire foutr," Erik whispered to me, his dirty French drenched with lust as thick and dark as Azrecan coco.

"Please, until we both can no longer breath."

Overcome with desire, Erik crushed my skirts up around my waist while I jockeyed for a comfortable, secure position over his hardened shaft.

He shivered and hissed with satisfaction when I sheathed him, "Dear God how I love you, you magnificent female."

Laying one hand against my cheek, he urged me into another searing kiss. Keeping pace with the carriage horse, I rode Erik with a quick, rhythmic cadence.

The cramped little carriage and the occasional flutter of the velvet curtain created an atmosphere of erotic danger that spurred us on in our frenzied copulation.

Pregnancy agreed with my sex life. I felt sensations in places I'd never known existed. I galloped to the goal and when I arrived, bit my lip hard to keep from screaming, thus alerting the cabbie. Erik completed his orgasm by thrusting heartily against me. His release equaled mine in intensity. He lifted me up with his hips and expelled a lengthy series of deep growls worthy of a majestic lion.

We collapsed against each other; a happy, sweaty Raggedy Ann and Andy.

"Damn, you're good, Erik," I panted.

"I told you we could," Erik rasped against my shoulder.

"I admit, you were right."

"_Never_. Doubt. Me."

Emerging from our cloud of Eros, I realized that the carriage was static and I could no longer hear the mad rush of London street traffic.

I flipped back the curtain. The majestic 18th century mansion belonging to Dr. Garrett and her husband met my gaze.

_**- () -**_

_**Please, if you are reading this story, shoot me a review. The end is near and I want to know how I'm doing. I get hundreds of hits on one chapter, yet see only ten reviews. I do welcome all you new readers and am appreciative of everyone's reviews. You rock!**_

_**-Leesa**_

_**Translations:**_

**_Petite jeune mariée douce: My sweet little bride_**

_**Mon amour: My love**_

_**Je veux au va te faire foutr: I want to ---- you**_


	82. Ch 82 Dr DuPuis

_**Sorry for making you wait, dear readers. The Memorial weekend was busy. I hope my boo-boos are not too bad. I haven't had time to consult my betas for this chappie. Enjoy! **_

_**XXOO-Leesainthesky**_

**Chapter 81 Dr. DuPuis**

"Erik, we're here! Quick, help me with my skirts," I whispered, suddenly in the mood to make haste.

Erik haphazardly brushed my skirts back into proper arrangement, in doing so, knocked my reticule to the floorboards.

At precisely the exact instant I bent to retrieve my purse, the driver pounded on the carriage door. Startled, I bolted upright, barely missing a head on collision with Erik's knees.

"We're 'ere", sir. Ought I wait fer ye?" inquired the cabbie.

"No-I mean, yes, give us a moment won't you, monsieur?" Erik sputtered.

"Wot ever pleases ye, sir. Damned randy French," he mumbled stepping away from the door.

"Gabrielle, you're perspiring, dear," Erik said, wrinkling his brow at me.

"Gee, Erik, I wonder why that is?"

Reaching into his waistcoat, he produced a handkerchief and pressed the silky cloth against my forehead, cheeks and décolletage. I retrieved my lacy version from the pocket of my cloak and and returned the favor.

Without warning, the driver, in a move of humorous defiance, opened the cab door. Erik and I gaped out at him. Our reward was snaggletoothed smirk. With no time to re-arrange my disheveled clothing properly, I tilted my chin up and stuck out my hand with the air of a noblewoman.

"Assist me, will you?"

"Kindly, Duchess." He bowed and took my hand to help me out of his rig. Acting like a queen emerging from my gilded coach, I stepped into the street. Immediately, I felt a small trickle of Erik's ardor decorate my thighs. A rumpled Monsieur DuPuis followed, also affecting a regal air, de rigur for Erik, and silently handed the man his fare.

"Thank ye, sir, 'ave a fine day." The man tipped his hat and winked at Erik. Erik colored and I turned my head, feigning indifference. He sidled up to me and touched my elbow. "Rude cur."

I chuckled, "Oh man, he knew about our debauchery—why, the man actually winked at you!" I held my sides and laughed harder.

"Madame, I find your choice of amusement rather ill—fitting."

"Don't pull the proper card with me; you're the one who insisted we copulate in that midget-sized cab."

"Humph. I ought to teach him a lesson in manners." Erik straightened his cravat and coat and slid a hand over his hair.

"Pity the poor fool, Erik. With hygienic habits like his, I imagine the only action he gets is the sort one lays down a pound note for."

"A sixpence, more than likely," Erik said. Mild disgust colored his voice.

"Youch," I whispered. "Come my randy dandy," I linked arms with Erik and walked up the steps of the mansion. "Let's see if the good doctor is in the house."

I was amazed to find Elizabeth in residence, since she dedicated enormous blocks of time to the hospital and various other worthy projects. Startled and delighted to see us, the gracious doctor invited us into her parlor, where we took tea and biscuits and chatted about everything and nothing.

Erik, tiring of the Christine story and our otherwise banal chit-chat, steered the conversation to the medical.

"Dr. Garrett, I wish to thank you for looking over my dear Gabrielle. She has assured me that your capable hands have kept her well and fit these past months. What I require of you is information. You see, I've embarked upon tedious research of the intricacies of my fiancée's condition, and of other matters of obstetrics. Gabrielle tells me that you are a forerunner in the science and I request your thoughts and ideas on the subject. You see, dear lady, I have a medical mind and I will be tending to my wife during the delivery of our child.

Elizabeth raised an elegant eyebrow at Erik. "I am impressed, monsieur, most men care not a whit about matters of the female body, but for one, of course."

Having just quelled Erik's interest in said matters, I studied my hands self-consciously. Erik responded to the doctor's words with a subtle smile.

"I shall be pleased to confer with you, Monsieur DuPuis, and Gabrielle as well. She has an astonishing amount of knowledge on the subject and I should wish for the three of us to be on the same page.

Erik and I embraced her words with a nod.

"How soon will you leave for Paris?"

"Another week and a half, after I complete my journalistic commitments."

"Having you close at hand is preferable to your being one country away from my Gabrielle's care, Dr. Garrett." Erik leaned into the divan's thick cushions, crossed one leg over the other and balanced his tea cup on his knee.

I glanced between the two. Erik wanted Elizabeth to travel to France and play personal physician to me, his pregnant fiancée. An endeavor I doubted she had the time for.

"Dr. Garrett, would you consider coming to the manor to oversee Gabrielle's delivery? I am prepared to pay you handsomely for your expertise," he asked.

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur DuPuis, but I am astoundingly busy with a research project. I could never sacrifice the time to be far from it for long."

Erik's countenance darkened with disappointment.

Elizabeth set her empty tea cup on the silver serving tray, laced her fingers together and rested her hands in her lap. She studied Erik for a moment. "However," she said tapping her thumbs against each other, "It may be possible for me to arrange a visit in the month before Gabrielle's expected date of delivery."

"You see, Erik, Elizabeth is a serious physician. She not only runs the hospital, but teaches at the university as well as tending to her patients."

Erik fiddled with his gold cufflinks and considered her generous offer. "Forgive me for my brash assumptions. My home—" Erik smiled and put his hand over mine, "_Our_ home is in the French countryside not far from Paris; however I am willing to take no chances with Gabrielle's delivery. Regardless of whether or not a doctor or midwife is present, I want you to teach me all I need to know to care for my future bride and our unborn child, if you will be so kind, Madame."

Elizabeth's expression remained neutral, but I could tell by the way she sat forward that she was in agreement with Erik's request.

"Allow me to consult my planning book and my husband. I shall confirm the appointment via post, if it pleases you, monsieur DuPuis."

"Indeed, it does. I shall anticipate your arrival at DuPuis Manor in June. Now, if you've no objections, I am eager to begin our discussion on obstetrics."

Four the next four hours, Erik, Dr. Garrett and I poured over her research findings and answered Erik's rapid fire questions. From time to time,

I found the need to insert my own watered down knowledge of 21st century medicine—matters of bed rest, nutrition and the stages of delivery.

While I lived in Chicago, I had a good friend whose husband had deserted her the very month she discovered her pregnancy. I held her hand throughout her entire term, which earned me the honor of birthing coach. The classes and subsequent delivery taught me a world of practical information about birthing babies.

Even though modern monitoring tools would not accompany the birth, having the keen intellects of Erik DuPuis and Dr. Garrett at my side gave considerable rest to many of my fears.

We left Elizabeth's home in ample time to make our six o'clock train to Hastings. On the short trip back, I attempted to snooze, but my fiancé could not contain his curiosity. He kept me awake with his relentless questions of all things baby.

Sparing the delicate ears of our fellow passengers from our distasteful discussion, I quietly explained the importance of proper breathing techniques, monitoring my pulse and making sure that, once born, the infant was breathing properly.

"Suppose the babe cannot make delivery. What then?"

"Don't even think of it, Erik."

"But, Gabrielle, I need to know, in case—"

"Caesarian section."

"Yes, I've read about them. Not too successful for the mother are they?"

I paused before forming my reply.

"Progress has been made in the last twenty years, but it's still a risky endeavor, so is premature birth. All I can do is to pray there won't be any complications."

"Then I insist on bed rest for you, immediately."

"Whoa big fella, if I don't feel badly, there's no need to treat me like an invalid, at least until the last month or so."

"But you said—"

"Rest is important for a healthy baby, but so is exercise and fresh air. Nothing strenuous, working in the garden perhaps."

"If you are absolutely certain. I'll not have you taking chances, Gabrielle."

"Neither would I, sweetheart," I reassured him.

"It's nice to see spring coming early this year. I am over the cold weather. Do you think the rose garden will bloom as splendidly as last spring?" I asked, steering talk toward a less emotionally charged subject.

"They had a proper pruning in the fall. Some already have small green shoots appearing at the roots. You may be interested to know that that large bush with the red blooms and heavy thorns is no longer in there. I've been experimenting with different hybrids and came up with a superior rose which bears beautiful yellow blooms tinged with a coral pink aura."

"You did? Wow Erik, that is so cool, how you are able to do that. What have you named your creation?"

"It is an American beauty. The Princess Gabrielle rose."

Erik had chopped down the Christine rose bush and replaced it with a bush whose blooms were not a boring red, whose thorns were delicately effective, not thick sharp razors, a unique rose named Gabrielle.

Erik's endearment surprised me. To think of how hard he must have worked creating something so beautiful, so personal and timeless as a rose for me. I felt surrounded by a pure light, brilliant and warm with the love of this amazing man.

"Dear? I need to close my eyes for a while, if you don't mind?" I said.

"Why, of course, forgive me darling. The hour is late and I've been thoughtless of your needs haven't I?" Erik said, suddenly realizing how much the day's activity had worn on me.

"Here, use my body as your pillow." Gracefully, he unfurled his arm, offering me the safe haven of his embrace.

I gladly burrowed into the comfort of his soft cashmere cloak and drifted off.

"Gabrielle, my sweet, wake up," Erik whispered quietly and kissed the top of my head.

"Huh? Are we in Hastings," I asked groggy from the cat nap.

"The train is pulling into the station. You've slept for a good tow hours, shall I carry you?"

"Lord no, Erik. You'll throw your back out."

I sat up and straightened my cloak, when I did; I noticed a wet spot on the breast of Erik's expensive garment. I'd drooled on him in my sleep. Egad. I withdrew my handkerchief and blotted the spot.

"What in Pharaoh's name are you doing, dear?" he strained to see what I was doing.

"No matter, just a bit of, um, a wet spot where my mouth was, I've got it," I answered. Erik was meticulous about his clothes.

"Bah, pay it no mind. If I am to become a father, I should acquaint myself with drooling children shan't I?" He grinned playfully at me.

"I suppose you should."

My revenge can be a tiring undertaking. I was beyond thrilled to be back at the cozy cottage in the woods. Erik and I remained burrowed beneath the bed sheets long past noon. We were not engaged in deep meaningful lovemaking, but slumber.

After a quick brunch and a bath, Erik pinned me down for a good two hours of discussion, further quenching his thirst for knowledge on the subject of child birth. For the remainder of my day I labored over an article for _Harper's. _

At the eighth chime of the long clock in the upstairs hallway, Erik padded into the study and began to massage my shoulders.

"Gabrielle, you've been plying your craft for a considerable amount of time. Your hand and arms must be painfully stiff."

"You know it. Thank you for the break. You know how it is Erik, once a writer becomes enveloped in his or her work, you forget if it's day or

night." I chuckled.

"So true, but I insist you break for supper, darling."

Realizing how late the hour was, I twisted around to face him, "Oh Erik, you're hungry aren't you; I'm sorry, I thought you were equally engrossed in some work of your own.

"I completed my project over an hour ago."

"I see. I'm not terribly hungry, but I can make something for you to eat," I offered.

"I'm not concerned for me; it is you who needs proper nutrition. A piece of cake with milk does not signify a healthy supper, darling," he said eying the half finished glass of milk and the plate at my elbow, empty but for a few dark brown crumbs.

"Eggs, flour, butter, cream, those are healthy ingredients and it was a large piece of cake, plus I did have breakfast, Erik."

"Do not rationalize your bad habits with me Madame, up now. We'll go to the kitchen where I shall prepare something suitable for you and our child."

"You're going to wait on me? Awesome, let's roll then." I closed my leather writing portfolio and pushed away from the desk.

"Contrary woman, must I bribe you to care for yourself."

"Look here, big daddy, I've managed swimmingly on my own up to now, sometimes, become preoccupied. Honestly, have you ever known me to miss a meal?" I said sticking my hands on my hips indignantly.

"Come—to—me." Erik affected the tone of a mysterious Svengali, parting the air with his fingers and beckoning me forward with a graceful flourish. "I will ply you substance from the gods—"

Buying into his farce, I fixed my eyes and walked toward him in zombie fashion.

"Your wish is my command master," I dead panned as if I were an automaton. Erik took my hand and began leading me to the stairs.

"First, I shall serve you, and in turn for your gratitude, you will serve me in a more— lascivious fashion."

"Master—is—a—horny—goat," I said continued blankly.

Erik broke from character and paused in mid-step, "A horny goat, Madame? Really!"

I made the mistake of meeting his eyes, he looked completely serious. I broke down in a fit of giggles.

"I retract my former statement, you're not contrary, you're, impossible."

I formed my thumb and forefinger to signify a phone and held it to my ear.

"I dare you to recite that pot and kettle thing to me again," he warned.

"You know its true Erik, or should I say 'Mr. Contrary'?"

I continued to goad him. It had taken Erik many months before he learned to accept a good natured ribbing from me. I smiled seductively while slipping past him in the hallway. He grabbed for me but I ran for the stairs. My present condition sorely hampered my ability to flee and with Erik at my heels, I plopped down onto the smooth wooden stair-rail and slid the length of it to the first floor.

"Good heavens, Gabrielle, must you! "Erik trotted down the stairs after me.

"Oh shush; I am in total control, these silly skirts make for safe and smooth sailing," I laughed.

"You're completely daft." He raced to catch me at the foot of the banister. I beat him to it, but could not dismount fast enough and he me caught in his arms. Erik shook his head, but a smile lifted the corners of his mouth."

"Another glorious reason you love me," I chimed.

Erik held my gaze for some time. Had I raised his ire? His expression was unreadable.

"Gabrielle, you are my dream, never, ever allow me to awaken from it."

"Me? Oh Erik, I'm no dream. I am your reality and you, are mine."

"None the less, I am astounded daily by my good fortune."

"Sweet man; and to think—you still long for me even though I'm increasing by the hour."

"Not to appear coarse, darling, but I think your protruding belly is fetching."

"Are you ill?"

"I don't mean _the child_, God no, Gabrielle, one thing I am not is a pedophile."

He stepped closer and ran his hands down the length of his waistcoat and regarded me with the look of someone about to recite a serious address.

"Gazing upon you, I marvel at the miracle which blooms inside you—knowing that the fruit of our joining has created a being uniquely ours. And when I glimpse your naked feminine form, full and glowing in the candlelight of the bedroom, I come near to weeping from the rapturous it brings me. Forgive my lack of self restraint, I cannot help but to burn for you, my luscious, omniscient woman."

Erik was serious and it humbled me."You think I'm sexy—wow, I know of men who are repulsed by their wife's baby belly—Elvis comes to mind. I did win the man prize when I fell for you. I swear it." I ran my hand down the front of his gray woolen waistcoat and hooked my finger into the waist band of his trousers. Leaning in as far as my girth would allow, I kissed the tip of his disproportionate nose.

"Such disbelief from a woman who views my physical abominable as desirable?"

"Erik DuPuis, in my book of absolute truths, I deem you a major hottie. I've never been drawn to obviously pretty men. I figure someone with flawless features is either gay or hiding a gross disfigurement of the soul. In those first months I lived at the manor, vivid sexual dreams of you crowded my nights. These dreams rattled my days. An attraction to Monsieur DuPuis? Illogical, destructive, I told myself. Yet how could a warm blooded woman of any century ignore a man with Orphic eyes, artful hands, virtuosic lips and graceful style? Erik, you possess an allure more seductive than the brightest aura."

"Dear God, Gabrielle, I am usually a perceptive man, but I—I cannot fathom why any ..."

"Why any woman, upon experiencing your mesmerizing prowess, arid humor and intriguing spirit wouldn't melt into a helpless woman-puddle? Sweetheart, had women of this age not been berated into seeking a mate based on societal precepts, I would be bereft of your love."

"so you say."

"I do."

"Then yours is the only opinion that matters to me."

"Precisely."

"Now, weren't you commanding my presence in the kitchen for the purpose of stuffing me full of nutritious morsels?"

Erik blinked."I was,indeed." He reached for my hand, but I eluded his grasp by skipping backwards down the main hall toward the cottage's vast stone kitchen. Erik followed, shaking his head.

Once there, I pulled out a kitchen chair, lifted my skirts up to straddle its stiff ladder back and rest arms across the top.

Erik eyed me with questionable approval.

"I'd like a spinach quiche, a fruit cup, and a glorious heap of fried potatoes with butter. Oh and a pot of Earl Gray too. You know how I take my tea." I rattled off my short order.

"Quiche will take an hour."

"If you look in the icebox, you'll find three quarter of the one I made yesterday morning, apples and pears too."

He lit the stove, and put on the kettle to boil before rounding up the proper utensils for setting the table.

I watched with amused interest as Erik frittered about the kitchen gathering foodstuffs for our meal. Not that my love was incapable of putting together a decent meal, in the past he'd always cooked for himself, but since I'd been hired for the duty, I'd prepared all the meals at the manor. For me it was not domestic drudgery—I liked messing around in the kitchen, plus it gave me something useful to do.

A whistle of steam signaled that the water was ready for brewing tea. Erik prepared two cups and carried them gingerly to the table.

"Here now, drink your tea dear, I've added a dash of honey, it will suit you much better than sugar."

I hid a smile into my cup and sipped a bit of the hot tea.

"Hey Erik, how are the Roux? I've missed them terribly."

"And they miss you. I think my dour attitude has worn on them of late. They will be pleased to have your fresh face back at the manor."

"Do you see much of your friend, the Daroga?"

"His usual monthly visit."

I nodded. Erik slid into the chair to my right. He lowered his chin a notch and regarded me from beneath his long, inky lashes.

"Erik, I contacted the Daroga before you left for Paris, I needed his expertise in a personal matter—"

"Yes, your inquiry about Signore Vincenzo."

- () -

_**Thank you all, regular readers and newbies for your reviews. They are like water for chocolate to me.**_

_**More to come soon.**_

_**-Leesa**_


	83. Ch 83 Dialogue

_**Finally, over 1-K in reviews! I'm smiling big. Merci beaucoup X-1K! (To MOD who read the entire text up to Ch 82 in record time, you get a bottle of eye drops). **_

_**- Leesainthesky **_

_**Ch 83 Dialogue **_

"Nadir told you?" I struggled to hide my dismay.

The man whom I'd confided in to dig into the nosey Signor Vincenzo's past had squealed to Erik about my request. Sure, I knew the former Persian Police Chief was Erik's closest ally, but I'd imagined him trustworthy to a fault.

_Freaking great,_ I thought sourly.

"I can tell when Nadir is sleuthing about. Others may not, but I always know. Plus, he sent you a letter. Since you no longer lived at the manor." assumed any deliveries belonged to me.

"You're not perturbed that I didn't consult you first?"

"Well I was, at first. I suppose my ego was bruised."

"Don't be upset, Erik. I don't doubt your capabilities, but Nadir wouldn't be as tempted to kill the nosy Italian as you would."

"If he were to threaten you, I would have little qualms about silencing his malicious intent, dear."

"Um Hum, I know," I shot him a dark look.

"It's of no consequence at the moment is it?" Erik splayed his hands out in a gesture of indifference. Per your request, the former Daroga did delve into Vincenzo's background."

"What did he find out?" I asked little too anxiously.

"Tell me, Gabrielle, what isit about the man that troubles you?"

"It's in his manner. He's plays mental hide and seek with me and I don't like it one damn bit. I sense a sinister under-layer of intent in his tone whenever he compliments me; his eyes bear a look that says, 'I know things about you,_ intimate _things.' I'm telling you, Erik, he's being very 'cloak-and-dagger' with me."

"An unsavory fellow indeed." Erik clenched his jaw and scowled at a memory. "I recall his solicitous flattery when I introduced you to him at the Lyric in Paris. While I was conferring with the owner, I caught Vincenzo ogling you. It was then that I wished to teach the fulsome dandy a lesson in manners at the end of my Punjab lasso."

"Oh geez, Erik—tell me you don't still carry that thing around?"

"You needed worry my dove; it is my companion only for the purpose of protection. I find the lasso less messy than a knife and far more elegant than a firearm."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," I said. Justified or not, Erik needed to steer clear of violence.

Another problem I had with confronting Vincenzo was his position as manager of the Lyric, the only opera House in France daring enough to showcase Erik's cutting edge work. It was also the only Opera House in France where Erik dared do business.

Thinking about the Italian made me anxious. I started tapping a table leg with my foot. "I recall Vincenzo insisting we'd met when he was in New York City on business two years ago in June, precisely the same time Tony and I were shooting the television show. Naturally, he didn't say he'd been there in June of 2005; however, I felt that he _inferred_ it."

Erik listened intently while setting the table, taking care to lay the utensils in their proper order; knife and spoon to the right, forks to the left with a napkin artfully arranged in the center of the plate.

"Fruit?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

He placed a bowl of fresh apple slices blended with cinnamon and honey before me and dished out enough to serve three people.

"The second time Vincenzo attempted a connection between us was after the opening night of _Femme du Nord. _Do you remember, Erik?"

"Certainly, he cornered us by the stage door as we made to leave. His aim, so he claimed, was to congratulate me on the night's success. Then he addressed you—something about having known an American scientist by the name of Jonathan Thomassen. You did well to appear non-pulsed by his words."

"I was dumbstruck … felt as if he'd dropped a bomb on me, and then he asked if we were related in some way. Dad claimed his mother named him after a marginally renowned fourteenth century Norwegian poet favored by his mother. I've seen the Thomassen family tree, Erik; there's not another Jonathan Thomassen on any branch of it. Vincenzo is angling for something, but what and why?"

Erik removed an oven pad from the iron hook next to the stove. "Perhaps you do know the man, Gabrielle."

I shook my head, "Not in the least, and the dude creeps me out."

Pulling the warm quiche from the oven, he placed the pan on the table, cut two large pieces and arranged them on our plates.

"A more lady-like position should allow for better access to your food, dear," Erik suggested.

I stuck out my tongue at him, untangled my feet from the chair rungs and reversed my position to face the table.

"Equally lady-like behavior, darling," Erik said dryly.

"I'm telling you, Erik, I have searched the farthest corners of my memory from every interview and boring network schmooze-fest to Dad's colleagues—even my former elementary school-mates. I came up with nothing, nada, zippo."

I sampled a small bite of the quiche, touching it to my lips to test its heat.

"After the 'Christine incident' interrupted my semi-charmed life, I employed Nadir to dig up any facts on Vincenzo and then I got that faux letter and left France before he could get back to me. A storm of other concerns followed, temporarily washing the situation from my mind, and, well, you know the rest."

Erik finished chewing a bite of apple. "My solitary contact with Vincenzo was in a letter where he relayed to me his gratitude for the success of _Femme du Nord, _in which he wrote, '_I would be remiss as a gentleman not to_ _bid a cordial greeting to your lovely fiancée_, _Gabrielle_'. I thought the man rather forward in his address," Erik snorted, reaching for the kettle.

"More, dear?"

"Mmm, please." I held out my teacup.

"And what of Nadir, did he get anything on him?" I asked.

"When I questioned him about your commission, he confessed to tracing Vincenzo from his lofty tenure at the Lyric Opera House, to floor manager at the Majestic in Manchester and on to Vienna where our Italian friend worked as a music shop clerk."

"Fairly insignificant, so far," I commented

"That's not all. Nadir followed his path to New York City."

"New York? No! Did Nadir say what he was doing there?"

"Apparently the fellow served as a copywriter for a weekly periodical in the city, the trail terminates from there, Nadir found no record of any relatives either. It is as if our Signor Vincenzo walked out of the mist."

"And that is my biggest fear. That Vincenzo is somehow not of this time."

"Another time traveler?"Chère merde—non possible!"

"My exact sentiments, as for not being possible, well—_hello_!" I spread my arms wide and pointed at myself.

Erik inclined his head in acknowledgment. His lips curved into a smile. "And an exquisite phenomenon you are. What I wrestle to absorb is how in the devil Vincenzo knew to find you here. Why would he care? Could it not be simple coincidence, Gabrielle?"

"Coincidence is another word for fate, Erik. Signor freaky-deaky says leading things to me. He winks and smiles with an air that says; _'I know your little secret, Gabrielle_.' This hunch I have about him—it's not good."

"It angers me to see he's frightened you. Should he dare harm you, I will send him to meet his Maker." Unseen storm clouds darkened Erik's eyes.

"If we've any luck, he's forgotten about me since I've been in England these past months," I said watching the tea leaves settle into the bottom of my china cup.

"Heaven forfend the Italian intermeddler bother you again. I strongly recommend you avoid any contact with him, are we agreed, Gabrielle?"

It really wasn't a question.

"Your recommendation is respectfully noted," I said leaning against the chair's ladder back.

I hoped he wouldn't detect my crossed fingers beneath the table.

Two weeks raced by like the second place horse at the Kentucky Derby. In mere days, I would be on my way back to my home in the French countryside.

With various articles completed, edited (by Erik) and sent out for publication, I now focused on packing my belongings. In five months, I'd accumulated a significant amount of items to add to my meager cache, requiring me to borrow a trunk from Mary Ann.

Dr. Garrett visited twice to check on my progress and further Erik's medical education. Even though I anticipated returning to the manor, a dull melancholy nagged at me when I thought of leaving Scalands cottage and my dear comrades.

After supper on the evening before our departure, Erik and I enjoyed a pleasant evening together. He played the piano while I sat in an overstuffed reading chair listening and fuzzing in and out of a contented fog.

Suddenly Erik's smooth tenor replaced the golden notes drifting from the small Wornum upright.

"Gabrielle, I've been searching my mind as to why I insist on remaining a reclusive. I do realize you are not one to share my penchant for solitude. Because of your influence in my life, I've dared meet a bevy of intelligent and gracious people who stimulate my humor and who accept me, eccentricities and all. Our home will always be open to your intimates, Gabrielle."

"Why, thank you, sweetheart." I was proud of Erik's painstaking efforts to accommodate my own distinctive needs.

"I'm blessed to have found friends who are among this century's brightest stars, not only do they possess intelligence, but enormously good taste. Naturally, they accept you Erik, you're not just another artsy-fartsy sycophant—you are an original. My circle sees you as 'Monsieur DuPuis, the mysterious phenom'."

"Your belief in me is humbling, Gabrielle."

"It is you who humbles me. When you engage an instrument, be it piano, violin or voice, I enter a sensual realm of sound and light—a place where your every movement, expression and note mesmerizes. I fall completely under your spell," I sighed.

Erik spun around on the piano bench, startling me. "Never again say those words to me."

"What words?"

"Darling, you're aware of my thaumaturgical powers—of how I once employed such methods to seduce others into doing my bidding. I never, ever wish to engage them upon you—participation in my life must be by your choice, not my manipulations."

"Rest assured it is by choice, sweetheart."

Erik's eyes narrowed and he scrutinized me closely before he spoke, "Gabrielle, when you listen to me play, have you ever felt as though you were in a trance?"

"No, my response to your music is impassioned. The notes seep into my skin, touch nerves and course through my bloodstream and into my heart. Other poignant pieces have a similar effect, though not as intensely as what I experience with you. Your artistry may alter my mood, but not my will."

"Good, music should transport one to a higher realm. Do promise me if your rapture morphs into phantasma, implore me to stop or depart from my presence immediately. The ability to hypnotize others into obedience is addictive and dangerous. I do not want an obedient zombie for a wife."

"What, no servile little Victorian mouse for you? Uncountable men would befriend Mephistopheles if they could sample a portion your persuasive skills, Erik."

"Not I. A malleable mannequin is not my ideal mate and you, Madame Thomassen, are not formed from that mold. You, my dear, are a spirited young woman, who inspires me greatly."

"Sixty thrills a minute huh?" I grinned.

"Absolutely."

Erik slapped his hands against his knees and stood. "The hour is late and we've a significant amount of work to do before our departure. I think we ought turn in for the night. Are you with me, my sweet?"

"I suppose I should turn in," I said, accepting Erik's outstretched hand. I was weary, my back ached mightily, and my body begged for rest, but my personal gerbil had become restless, visions of babies, packing, weddings and a sleazy Italian, spun within the little wheel in my head.

**- () - **

**_Please review, it keeps me from the Prozac. _**

_**- Leesa **_


	84. Ch 84 Nuptials

_**Welcome new readers. I cannot believe that after a full year of beginning this fic, I still have newbies coming aboard. Thanks to all of you for keeping my fingers busy this past year and to Barb and Amy, my lovely and talented betas--without them, this world be a mass of mistakes. Please, read on and enjoy,**_

**_-Leesainthesky_**

**Ch 84 Nuptials**

After spending the majority of two days aboard nineteenth century Europe's most expeditious mode of travel, the British Railway, with an impatient twenty-six week old knocking about my insides, Chicago's "L" was starting to look like a luxury conveyance. Erik and I left Hastings on a Friday, stopping only once after ferrying across the English Channel to the port city of Le Havre, in the province Seine-Maritime. 

The glories of spring in the European countryside, untainted by a progression of mega-malls, rambling cookie-cutter subdivisions and soaring steel towers adorned with satellite devices, flaunted their variegated flora with pride as if for the sole purpose of entertaining occupants in the passing trains.

Erik had procured a sleeping car for us, an extravagance reserved for those with the deepest pockets. Although the privacy was a welcome perk, it was a smushy situation for a tall man and his pregnant traveling companion. We were forced to sleep in small bunks fixed one atop the other. Our accommodations bore an inadequate closet and a mirror situated above a doll sized desk and chair.

We filled our time reading, he with one of Dr. Garrett's recent medical journals while I perused the pages of Rimbaud's lyrical prose, _Illusions,_ between snatches of sleep.

Once aboard the ferry, our late night voyage across the channel was a welcome change from the claustrophobic quarters of the train. Due to the hour, few passengers accompanied us for the trip, a substantial relief for Erik. No matter how much confidence he'd gained in the past two years, tolerating the prying stares of the curious still made him immensely uncomfortable. Victorians were a suspicious lot.

Whenever Erik traveled to England, it was his habit to stay in the French port town of le Harve at the Hotel Petit Vatel. The proprietor knew him and appeared non-pulsed by his oddities. Erik's money was as good as anyone's and he was cleaner than most occupants were.

"Le Petit Vatel should have a vacancy for us, it shan't be long before I shall have you resting in a proper bed, darling," Erik soothed and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"Praise the Lord and pass the pudding!" I said, my voice hoarse from the pollen saturated night air.

"Yes, whatever that means," he replied with an affable snort as we left the platform in search of a porter.

"Finally, back on French soil," I said wistfully. We strolled across the docks leading to rue Louis Brindeau, where the inn lay sandwiched among a string of cafés, a barber shop? and a house of questionable repute, all whose fronts were beaten shabby by two centuries of saltwater.

"Being back on French soil . . . it is a good thing, no?" Erik questioned.

"I like it here. France has become my second home, the original one being light years away," I laughed.

"Home--yes. She has not always been the kindest of friends to me, but France is where I belong. I feel more at ease among her artistically tempered society than any other place. I was born not far from here."

"Were you?"

Erik seldom offered up details from his youth. I knew he was born in Rouen, but I'd no concept of the town's proximity to Le Havre.

"Lovely little place, pity my memories are of nothing but pain and darkness. It is where I learned that the carefree childhood afforded other boys was not available to a grotesquely deformed heathen." Erik scowled at the cloud littered horizon.

"Assholes," I swore.

He laughed. "What an eloquent way you have with words, my dear."

"We'll have to visit my birth country someday. It would be interesting to see America on the cusp of the industrial revolution -- to visit some of the places I used to know before they became my future-past. Do you think you'd like that Erik?" I peered up at him watching the wheels turn behind his eyes.

"We shall see. But first, my dear, you have a child to bear who will require a monumental amount of our time and attention."

I nodded my acquiescence. I felt Erik was playing the kid card as a strategy to avoid discussing a trip to America, a distant and unknown land. _Later,_ I told myself. Tonight, I was too fatigued to even argue.

In spite of our room's damp, musky smell, it was clean, but the bed was narrow and hardly large enough for Erik's thin, long frame, much less a five foot five and a half inch woman whose shape resembled a Weeble.

"A 'Weeble'?" questioned Erik when I likened my body to the toy.

"A tiny doll. They wobble but they don't fall down -- well I haven't yet, anyway.

"Odd girl, but very likable," Erik teased. Quicker that I at undressing, he was already naked and sitting on the edge of the bed watching me peel off my layers.

"Come, my sweet mother-to-be, let's rest. I'll lie next to the wall, then you spoon against me and place your head in the crook of my arm," Erik instructed.

After significant positioning and shifting, Erik and I settled into an acceptable sleeping arrangement. I awarded the lone pillow to him, not so much out of the goodness of my heart but because it was filled with hen feathers that poked at me through the cotton pillow case.

If I'd harbored any fear of not sleeping in a strange bed, I'd worried for nothing. The both of us dropped into sleep as if we'd been running through a magic poppy field. Eight and one half hours later we awoke to the sounds of clucking chickens, bleating sheep and noises from the docks.

I lay in precisely the same position I'd fallen asleep, with my head on Erik's shoulder, my hips curled against him, his free arm wrapped protectively around my girth. And naturally, Erik had morning wood.

"Good morning, ma cheri," he murmured against my ear while softly stroking the underside of one breast.

"Oh no you don't, not until we're man and wife," I answered, taking his hand in mine.

"Cruel, cruel, Gabrielle. What difference does it make? If you've not noticed, Madame, I've already impregnated you."

"Self-control, darling -- it won't be that long.

"All right," he kissed my cheek, grunted and gently nudged me aside so he could rise and greet the day.

On the train, Erik had mentioned that, during his five month long search for me, he'd re-applied for the marriage license just before crossing the English Channel into England. It was a necessary that this be done in the area of his birth and since he was unwilling to grace Rouen with the honor of his presence, the French port city would have to do. It was convenient as well being the first stop on our return to Paris and DuPuis Manor.

Excited to become Madame DuPuis, I agreed to Erik's speedy plan.

Today was our wedding day.

Before bed, I'd taken care to hang up our best traveling clothes, hoping to shake out the folds and wrinkles incurred from packing.

When Erik embarked on his quest to find me, he'd intended to return not with a fiancée, but a bride in tow. I shuddered to think what would have happened had I refused his proposal of marriage.

Erik and I saw to our individual toilette and slipped into our wedding outfits.

If seeing the bride in her wedding clothes was bad luck, we would have to ignore the superstition. Aside from a thin changing screen, we had little privacy.

"Are you sure all of the papers you have are in order?" The question earned me a disdainful look.

"Naturally they are in order; the license, proof of birth, citizenship. I've procured everything necessary for a couple to marry legally in France," Erik replied, sliding a haughty look down his nose at me.

"Don't be insulted, dear, it's my nature to check and re-check details."

"Of course." He melted and came to embrace me.

"You look lovely, Gabrielle."

"So do you, Erik."

We both scoffed; he for not accepting that anyone would find him attractive and me for feeling like a bloated walrus dressed in sage green silk.

The _Mairie_, or town Hall, was one block from the inn. On the brief walk over, Erik purchase a bouquet of small white rose buds and presented them to me with a flourishing bow. "Your bridal bouquet, my sweet."

"Erik, thank you. They're so pretty and -- white." I giggled and plucked one out as a decoration for my hair.

"White, it is for the purity of our love. And if you think on it, Gabrielle, I was your first and only lover in this century."

"Ooh, wonderful logic, Erik. And remember, sweetheart, I was your first one, too." I rose on my toes to kiss for a quick smooch on the lips.

Erik smiled back at me. A whisper of a blush touched his cheeks. "And you shall be the last. How fortunate I am to have captured a futuristic vixen in the bowels of my former underground home."

"You know that's right, baby. And look at who I bagged; my very own legendary virtuoso--tres cool."

"Tres cool, indeed," Erik agreed.

"And I have something for you. I waffled over whether or not I should present this to you, not being a current day custom and all. But then I decided, 'what the hell', it seems like an Erik type of thing."

"You have me rife with anticipation. What is it, my darling?"

I loosened the satin braid of my reticule and withdrew a small black velvet box. I held it in my palm and offered it to Erik.

He hesitated, questioning me with curious jade eyes.

"Open it."

Graceful, long fingers plucked the small box from my hand and lifted the lid. For a long half a second, Erik starred at its contents. Pleasure crinkled at the corners of his mouth and one visible eye.

"A ring?"

"A wedding ring. I wanted to give you something special as a symbol of our union. It's not as grand as mine, but it is platinum, and the diamond is a nice one. Do you like it Erik?" I held my breath.

"It--is--amazing, Gabrielle."

"If you think you'll feel uncomfortable wearing it, you don't have to..."

"I shall wear this with pride." He appeased my fears of rejection by rewarding me with a beatific smile. He handed the box back to me. "For safe keeping until it is needed," he said.

We continued on, arm in arm, to the Mairie, a place used not only to procure all sorts of licenses, but for gathering one's mail and paying taxes.

"I spoke with the Conseiller Municipal on the way to London," Erik whispered when we entered the vestibule of the stone and clapboard building.

I arched my eyebrows at him, "Did you now. What if I had said no?" I teased.

"No was never an option," Erik answered somberly, looking me in the eyes.

_Arrogant_ _man_. _How dare he assume that I would automatically obey his commands simply because he was Erik, the grand wizard_?

Due to an over abundance of wacky hormones or fatigue, his presumptuousness began to tick me off.

I pulled my hand from his grasp and spun to face him. "Is this how it is going to be Erik? You decide what is best for me and I just--do it? Last night you said you didn't want an automaton for a wife. Now that the knot is about to be tied, you're showing your true colors, is that it?" I fumed.

He gaped at me and stepped toward me. "Gabrielle, what is the matter with you? I thought you wanted this. If not, now is a bloody bad time to say so."

"I do want this-I want you, what I don't want is for you to expect compliance to your every wish and command. I thought we'd agreed, I am your partner, not your underling, Erik."

"You _are_ my equal, Gab--"

"Then act in accordance. While we're on the subject of submission, I think it wise to strike 'obey' from my vows. I did not intend to have it in my twenty-first century nuptials and I do not intend to have it now. God is the only one I deem worthy of obedience. Nothing personal, Erik, but I will not pledge obedience to any man as if I were his prized hound--unless you intend to reciprocate in kind."

"In Latin 'to obey' means 'to listen deeply.' Is that not the original language of the church's King James transcription?"

"Maybe, but that's not the interpretation of the word by those who read it. I rather think that men enjoy the misinterpretation of 'the Word', it's piously convenient. It denotes slavery, blind obedience, and second class citizenry."

"Gabrielle, I do hope you forgive my overbearing nature. Assertive coercion was once my sole modus operandi. From your gentle, open kindness have I learned that such means are an unnecessary and degrading way to encourage someone to love you. And this word, 'obey,' it is a simple word, a tradition which means nothing--"

"_Nothing,_ Erik? If you can say that a word of our marriage vows means nothing, then you infer that all of the vows mean nothing."

"I daresay, woman, you've grown beyond contrary!" Erik rolled his eyes heavenward.

"Strong words from the most dictatorial man I've ever met," I countered.

"Dictatorial, Madame?" his eyes shot sparks. "Perhaps it is you who are the dictator. Always instructing me how to do this, and act like that. I am a man used to my solitude, you cannot expect me to become wholly well-disposed overnight!" He raised his voice to an impatient hiss.

"Holy merdé, Erik, we have been engaged for ten months and in each other's company a year before that. You've had ample time to mellow out. I will _not_ be ordered about by you, or any man." My ire rose with my voice.

I glanced over at a frail looking man sitting behind an enormous oak desk and noticed he was staring at us from behind a pair of John Lennonesque spectacles.

"Gabrielle, you're behaving like a silly chit, we are getting married now!" he whispered through clenched teeth, grabbing me by the forearm and swinging me around to face him.

"_You_..." I spat, ripping my arm from his hold.

Erik threw his hand to his side and exhaled a lengthy sigh, "Having been imprisoned by men and even by my own accord, I would never--I love you, Gabrielle. Honestly, I wish to marry you, not possess you."

I paused at the threshold to the main door. Erik came up behind me, enveloped me in his arms and held me, resting his chin on my head.

"Gabrielle, let's not have this dissension between us a second longer," he cooed in my ear.

I bowed my head, ashamed by my bi-polar outburst.

"Yes, Erik, let's get married." I tipped my face up to nuzzle the underside of his smooth shaven chin. "That is if you think you can survive another few months with a bitchy pregnant woman."

"If you will spend your days with a crazy man who loves you insanely," he countered.

"Who else would have us?" I nipped at his chin dimple and laughed.

**-()-**

_****__A wedding, whoot!_

******_Please, thrill me with your reviews._**

******_-Leesa_**


	85. Ch 85 Vows

_**I apologize for taking so long with the updates. I've been very busy with work, school and a new kitten! Thanks to Barb, the beta for her amazing powers of the beta. I hope you enjoy this chapter. There's more to come…**_

_**-Leesainthesky**_

_**Ch 85 Nuptials**_

The truth behind why brides and grooms should stay separated on their wedding day has less to do with luck and more to do with insurance. Brides and grooms are nervous people. A case of nerves can lead to dissention and dissention can lead to disunity.

Thankfully, Erik and I had survived our pre-wedding spat. Feeling sheepish for dragging him into an argument in the vestibule of the Marie, I quietly slid my arm through his and allowed him to lead me into the lobby.

Dwarfed behind a massive oak desk sat the man who I assumed was the municipal clerk. He thumbed through a stack of papers pretending to work.

Erik's long shadow fell across the desk. Not accustomed to people ignoring him--ever, ignored, he stood for a blip of second before invading the clerk's counterfeit enterprise.

"Pardon moi, Monsieur," Erik's silky voice resonated pleasantly through the cavernous, room. "Several months ago, I procured a license of marriage from your office. My fiancée and I wish to marry today if it is convenient for the Conseiller Municipal."

The sallow fellow peered at over the rim of his John Lennon specs; he looked at Erik then scanned my bulging belly, nodding sympathetically.

"A wedding, Monsieur, and so soon—would you not care to wait another few months?"

I assumed the man moonlighted at the "Pig and Pigeon" comedy club.

"I care to do it _now_, if you please, Monsieur," Erik said with genteel acerbity.

"I'm sorry; Conseiller DeVane cannot be bothered today. Come back tomorrow," the impertinent clerk snipped and returned to his jumble of papers.

Erik's clenched his jaw. Fire hot enough for frying bacon sizzled in his eyes.

_Oh crap_.

Smelling an altercation, I placed my hand over my heart, batted my lashes and in my best "Pitiful Pauline" voice said, "Kind Monsieur, please understand that it was my dear husband's dying wish that I marry his kind and wealthy brother, before the birth of his only child."

His switched his attention from the desk to my pleading face.

I lay a protective hand on my stomach for added effect. "Monsieur, a woman is simple not capable of caring for herself and an infant child, you know," I added with a tinge of proper meekness.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Erik balk, ever so slightly, at my performance.

The bespectacled man's tone melted a degree. "Indeed, Madame, forgive my imprudence. Have you the required documents, Monsieur?" He cracked a pitying smile and focused on Erik.

"Indeed, Monsieur."

Erik slipped his hand into the right inner pocket of his suit coat and withdrew a slim packet containing perfect facsimiles of our birth certificates, proof of domicile, my "husband's" death certificate and our marriage license, which Erik had filed for two months prior to today.

The Banns, a public announcement for intent to marry, had hung in the Marie since Erik decided to come looking for me in England.

With an elegant flick of his wrist, he presented our brilliantly forged documents to the clerk.

I watched the man scrutinize the papers and wondered if his vacuous expression insinuated approval or refusal.

_For Napoleon's sake get on with it!_ my brain screamed.

He folded the documents back into the narrow portfolio and handed it back to Erik.

"Everything appears on check, Monsieur. At the moment, the Conseiller Municipal, Monsieur DeVane, is unoccupied. I shall deliver his honor to you to post haste."

"Thank you, kind sir," I replied, with another flutter of lashes and a curtsey.

When the clerk scampered off to check on the Conseiller Municipal's availability, I rose on tiptoe to kiss Erik, who was brooding over either my flirting or my success with the municipal employee. "Remember, Erik, you get more flies with honey."

He regarded me solemnly. "Feminine manipulator, you are a complex and maddeningly crafty creature, my love."

"Moi?" I grinned. He brought my lace covered hand to his lips for a tender buss.

The door at the back of the main room clicked open. At the sound of footsteps clacking across the marble floor, we both made an abrupt swivel as if we were two naughty kids falling in line at the sudden appearance of our parents.

An ebony haired man of twice the clerk's height and girth entered. Because he wore robes, I assumed he was the Conseiller Municipal.

My breath made it half way up my windpipe before hesitating and retreating back into my lungs.

"Erik, if I faint, you'll catch me, won't you?"

"Of course I'll catch you, but I've never known you to be the sort of women who faints."

"Yes, well, I've never gotten married before."

"Your Honor?" I approached the Conseiller. "I know it's not common for the bride to exchange rings with the groom, but Erik and I, we'd like to exchange symbols of our love. I have a ring for my husband—fiancé. I mean."

I focused my gaze on the staunch man, waiting for his approval. What I got was a stern bull-dog glare, like I'd requested Erik and I have sex on the Marie's marble floor instead of giving my man a piece of sacred jewelry.

"Do you consent to this, Monsieur DuPuis," Conseiller DeVane looked past me to Erik.

"What sort of ninny would I be to reject this lovely creature's wish to embellish me with a token of her eternal love?"

"It is highly irregular, but if you insist—" he grumbled, thumbing through our papers with a frown.

A bout of anxiety played on my nerves and I wondered if something was wrong.

I fiddled with the cuff of my lacy gloves and recalled my friend from Chicago, Janis. Two minutes before her walk down the aisle she erupted in a rash of hives making her look like one of those cartoon zits in an acne cream commercial. Thinking quickly, I grabbed a cold drink from her mother's hand, rolled the icy glass over her blotchy décolletage, and then disguised the remaining welts with my cover stick.

Small wonder I'd become known in my circle as 'Gabrielle, the most likely to be asked to serve as bride's maid," an honor that won me a closet filled with horrid pastel ruffled satin gowns.

I suppose everyone who takes the covenant of marriage seriously does, or should, experience last minute jitters, yet when I stole a glance at Erik; he appeared as calm as a post storm dawn.

"Your Honor, concerning the 'obey' portion of the vows, I prefer to include it in my oath to my bride," requested Erik.

Monsieur DeVane's bushy brows spiked in surprise. "Monsieur DuPuis, in France, vows not exchanged within holy walls are strictly civil service. Omission of sacred text is a matter of law, not convention."

"I see." Erik turned to me, a smug sort of grin waggling at the corners of his mouth.

"There, my dear, you're ire was aroused for naught."

I shrug off his gratified smirk and turned to face Conseiller DeVane.

The Conseiller, looking as if he'd had a long and rowdy night of small town carousing with the sailors, sighed and regarded Erik with heavily lidded eyes.

"If it pleases you, Monsieur, Madame, shall we proceed with the nuptials?"

Erik and I nodded simultaneously. I reached up to straighten his cravat, not that it was askew, not with the meticulous Monsieur DuPuis, but I felt the need for the small, intimate gesture.

Erik looked—not nervous, antsy. His was an I-can't-wait–for-Christmas-morning sort of restlessness. Catching my hands in his, he pulled me closer. His eyes spoke of promise and of hope.

"Ma belle femme, you are my avenging angel, fallen from time. Because of your exceptionable love, I am no longer broken."

"Erik—" his name quivers on my tongue.

For our wedding ensembles, we wore our best traveling clothes; Erik in a black on black pin-stripped suit and waistcoat, with a crisp white linen shirt and gray silk cravat; he looked relaxed, satisfied, and grandly handsome.  
Even though I did not get to wear the sumptuous couture gown commissioned for me months before, I feel like a princess bride, (well, maybe more like a Fanny Brice bride in "Funny Lady" in my plain green silk dress with the matching bolero jacket, trimmed out in a dark green braid. For extra comfort, the skirt had extra pleats sewn in to accommodate my third trimester expansion.

_What a vision we must be; the six foot two man in the beige half mask and his very pregnant bride_. I would have killed for a photographer who could permanently capture our image on film.

"Oh," I said aloud when the idea popped into my brain. "There's no chance you have a camera available, is there?" I asked, hoping for the improbable. In this century, cameras were expensive monsters and rare to find outside of a photography studio.

"You honestly want a formal photographic record?" says the Conseiller incredulously.

"Why, yes--it is my wedding day," I return indignantly.

The desk clerk, whose name I'd still not heard, perked up.

"Monsieur Knight, the accountant, he recently purchased one—keeps it on hand in his office should anyone in town have need of instantaneous portraiture. It is his extravagant hobby," he scoffed slightly. "I believe he's in the back working on the ledger. Shall I fetch him?"  
"If you wish," grumbled Monsieur DeVane. "But do be quick about it."

"One moment." The clerk excused him self with a hasty bow and dashed through one of the Marie's central doors at the back of the room.

"Shall we proceed while my clerk scrambles about for a camera?"

"Lets," said Erik.

My future husband and I shared a look so intimate that Conseiller DeVane took to staring at his shoes before beginning the ceremony.

Eager to be rid of us and return to what I assumed was be a late morning cat nap in his office, he cleared his throat, snapping us out of our love-sick stupor and launched into the brief civil ceremony; "I do solemnly declare that I know not of any lawful impediment why Gabrielle Caroline Thomassen and Erik DuPuis may not be joined in matrimony."

Monsieur DeVane directed a thin-lipped smile at me and nodded. "Repeat after me, Madame ..."

Listening carefully to the official, I recited my declaration of marriage to Erik.

"I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, Gabrielle Caroline Thomassen, do take thee, Erik DuPuis, to be my lawfully wedded husband."

A pink cloud of surrealism engulfed me. It was in 1877 France. I was getting married to the famous composer, (and former Phantom) Erik DuPuis.

The love of my life.

"Monsieur?" the Conseiller said, pointing at Erik with his worn leather book of ceremonies.

For what I am sure was a full minute; Erik stared, mute. A less secure bride might have taken her groom's actions as cold feet, but I knew better. He was in a state of wonderment, gathering in all he could of the moment, the very textures, scents, and adrenaline rush of emotions.

I smiled and waited patiently. The Conseiller's left eyelid twitched.

"Gabrielle." My name rolled off of Erik's tongue in resonant, silky waves of sound. I was not surprised when Erik interrupted the Conseiller, reciting his lines by memory.

"I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, Erik DuPuis, do take thee, Gabrielle Caroline Thomassen, to be my lawful wedded wife, until the end of my days."

DeVane expelled a sigh. "And now the ring ceremony. Take your bride's hand, if you will, Monsieur."

"Gabrielle, I give you this ring as a token of our marriage and as a symbol of all that we share."

My hand betrayed my cool demeanor by shaking as I struggled to peel off the lacy glove from my left hand. Erik slipped his right hand in mine and paused, our eyes meeting, then he slipped the ruby and diamond ring on my finger.

"By the powers given lawfully to me, Conseiller Municipal, Horatio DeVane—"

"I believe we are not finished," I interrupted quietly. I assumed that, unaccustomed to a groom receiving a ring from his bride, he has forgotten me.

"Yes, forgive me, Madame." he said.

The Conseiller then nodded and addressed Erik. I began to shake with emotions so intense, I wondered if I was having an out of body experience.

"Erik DuPuis, I give you this ring as a token of our marriage and as a symbol of all that we share. Beautiful and shining though it is, its beauty cannot match the beauty of the man who stands before me."

I peered into Erik's eyes--they were the color of fine emeralds flecked with gold and shimmered with tears.

Again, my body became hostage to my emotions. My voice shook and a solitary tear slipped from the moat in my lower eyelid. I was graceless when I tried to place the platinum band on Erik's finger. I kept missing. Nerves caused me to giggle; Erik smiled at me and assisted by aiming his ring finger at the shining circle. He stared at his left hand, he stared up at me, then back at the ring. I took it to mean that he was pleased.

_I think his_ _Honor is speaking to us. Yes, he is pronouncing us man and wife, Monsieur and Madame Erik DuPuis._

I ignored the gasps from the three straight laced men in the room when I threw my arms about my new husband's neck, pressed my lips to his and went tonsil spelunking.

Erik did not resist. He embellished by smoothing his hand down my backside.

"Lawfully yours," I giggled into his mouth.

"It had better be," Erik responded.

Our public display did not bother either one of us one whit.

It was _our_ wedding day, after all.

"I dare say, Reginald, they've done that before," said a cheeky fellow standing near the far wall next to the pale desk clerk, whose name was surely Reginald. This onlooker clutched an enormous piece of equipment, which I assumed was his camera set-up.

"Voilà, Monsieur Knight has been found," said Monsieur DeVane.

Erik squeezed my hand. Amused that, against all odds, my wish had become reality, he also winked. "Who would have guessed a man with his own Daguerreotype machine should be beneath our very noses," he marveled.

"Ah-well, here is the lovely couple, no?" Monsieur Knight, nonplussed by the sight of the odd couple before him, dipped and smiled at Erik and I like a kid laden with cheap candy.

Bustling to-and-fro with haste, he chattered away while setting up his ancient/new equipment. We learned of the types of cameras, exposures and his hope to earn enough on the side to pay for what his wife called his 'silly hobby.'

"The heavily draped windows make for an adequate backdrop," he indicated a window on the far side of the room.

Now then, stand side by side—Monsieur DuPuis, face the camera if you please," He instructed.

"I _do not_ please." Erik scowled at Monsieur Knight.

Startled by Erik's abrupt gruffness, Knight gaped at us mutely, blinked and struggled to regain his composure.

"Er—very well then, do as you wish. The camera's eye sees more intimately than the human eye, you know, so close together now," the accountant re-worded his request with a flap of his hands.

We complied, and Monsieur Knight, satisfied with our positioning, disappeared beneath a length of cloth attached to the rear of his camera.

"When I say 'ready' you are to pose and stay perfectly still until I release you. If you should move before that, you, you will ruin the photograph."

"Understood, Monsieur," Erik said. He appreciated technology.

"I'm going to hold your hand and smile," I whisper to Erik. "I'll not have our grand-children and great-great grandchildren digging out our wedding photo and deciding that their grand-mère and grand-père must have been forced to marry. Often, when I would run across my ancestor's photographs from the 1800's, they looked as if they were receiving a high colonic.

Erik stifled a laugh. He stood facing the camera at an angle revealing his unmasked left side. I, being over a half a foot shorter then Erik, posed against his right shoulder effectively blocking the mask.

He looked terribly uncomfortable, and then it occurred to me—no one had ever bothered to record Erik's image before.

_Good heavens, he must be miserable_, I thought with a touch of guilt. I just _had_ to have my wedding photo—at his expense.

"And ... ready," Monsieur Knight said, followed by a blinding flash and a burst of smoke that smelled like burning tires.

As a former television personality, I reflected on the absurdity of having my picture taken with the latest in nineteenth century image production. The technique gave new meaning to the phrase, "lights, camera, action"!

Now I knew the reason behind my ancestor's sour-faced sepia-toned photographs—fear.

"Please, hold your pose until I give the word for you to move again," said Monsieur Knight. He consulted his pocket watch counting down the two minutes until our "instantaneous portraiture" had finished the developing process.

Erik and I held our serene smiles waiting for release from our mannequin poses.

"You may relax now, Madame Monsieur."

Used to posing before the camera for uncountable minutes, I fell easily from still life back to animation.

Erik, who is most uncomfortable with his new experience and restless beneath the thinly veiled scrutiny of the three municipal employees, released his hold on my hand and strode over to the front window. He parted the draperies enough to feign interest in the street bustle.

Monsieur Knight, pleased that I'd shown an interest in his camera, was chatting me up about how his Daguerreotype camera worked its magic. He was thrilled to explain how it used the new "dry plate" process, an emulsion of gelatin and silver bromide on a glass plate.

"It takes nary a minute to produce a Ferrotype image so clear you'll think it is living!" I envisioned a crude sort of Polaroid.

"Keeping up with the enormous demand for portraiture keeps me up to my chin whiskers in opportunities to make money, a fact of which I am thankful. New equipment is obscenely expensive. Millicent, that's my dear wife, hasn't an idea if the cost. I'd be sleeping on the floor of my office if she did," he chuckled.

"Oh dear!" I reacted, using the proper amount of exaggeration. "Mum's the word from my lips."

"If only she realized how wealthy I could make us—"

"Gabrielle," Erik said, turning abruptly from the window. "Our train departs within the hour. This . . . picture, it won't keep us much longer, will it?"

"Monsieur Knight, will it be much longer?" I asked.

"With my new plates, it is dry and ready for your enjoyment now, Madame. Ah, magnifique!" exclaimed the excited Monsieur Knight, scanning the plate he has just pulled from his massive machine. He dipped the "tin plate" into a clear solution, which he'd poured into a baking pan prior to snapping our picture, and set it on a chair to dry.

I walked over to inspect. "Wow." The modern exclamation popped from my mouth. I struggled to comprehend the reality before me; I was starring at a four by five black and white reproduction of my wedding day, March 29th, eighteen seventy-seven.

Erik had slipped up next to me silently; his voice jolting me from my momentary trance.

"You are a vision, Gabrielle."

"Lordy, Erik—I am my great-grandmother Berhow," I whispered.

**-()-**

_**I'm so excited for them, they're finally married. Please, you simply must review for me.**_

_**-Leesa**_


	86. Ch 86 Madame DuPuis

**_Welcome all, newbies, regulars and you lurkers too. I have a request at the end of this. I do hope you enjoyed Erik and Gabrielle's impromptu wedding. Props to my beta's, Amy and Barb, thanks for keeping me straight. _**

**Ch 86 Madame DuPuis**

Conseiller DeVane and his employees were amiable enough, but make Erik nervous. For my new husband, our brief visit to the town Marie was excruciatingly long.

Having completed the civil marriage ceremony, signed all of the proper documents and carefully wrapped tissue around our wedding photograph, we took our leave of the courthouse.

"Madame DuPuis_."_ I exhaled the words softly then breathed in their perfumed essence. A spirit of wonder settled over me as my new husband and I descended the steps of the Marie.

"Yes, Gabrielle, you are _my _wife," Erik responded.

We walked along the crowded rue Louis Brindeau, hardly noticing our surroundings One pair of gloved hands mated together, mine covered in lace, clutching Erik's hand in one and white roses in the other. His sheathed in black kidskin, holding onto me and our precious photograph.

I halted in the street, mid-step pulling Erik up short and flung my arms open wide.

"I am Madame Erik DuPuis'!" I exclaimed proudly. Further sharing my jubilation with the entire town, I broke free of Erik's hand and twirled around gleefully. White rose petals fluttered from my bride's bouquet like large snowflakes.

"Careful now, you are also to be a mother, Gabrielle." Erik admonished gently, catching me in his arms and drawing me flush against his body.

"I want every person within earshot to know that I am shamelessly, hopelessly in love with you."

Erik watched me with a mixture of curiosity and embarrassment. He reminded me of a boy who'd discovered something that he wasn't quite sure he should have.

"Have I embarrassed you? Gosh Erik, I'm sorry. I know how private you are, my happiness overwhelms me I'm afraid--"

"I'm not cross with you, my sweet. Having another person demonstrate exuberance purely for my existence is most unprecedented. I've always been hidden from or hidden by others—mustn't soil the pristine eyes of polite society, don't want to frighten them with your unholy visage, you know."

"As far as I care, they can deal with it or bite me," I whispered loudly.

He tightened his grip on my waist. "That's my spirited little filly. Mon coeur est à vous, Gabrielle."

"And my heart is also yours, Erik—for all of time."

Over and over again, I bestowed light, quick kisses to his lips. People stared, but then they always stare. When they do, I mostly ignore them, having learned after our first trip to London that Erik did not appreciate my protective bravado.

Erik's usual way of dealing with them is to pretend they don't exist. He carries on with a set jaw and determined gait.

"I believe we are being scrutinized, my darling," Erik mumbled between kisses.

"Yeppers, we are. It can't be for inappropriate behavior, we are, after all, properly wed."

"Sad little people, Do you pity them Gabrielle?"

"Oh hell no."

"And neither do I. Now, more of what you call your "good stuff."

I giggled like a schoolgirl and wrapped my arms about Erik's neck, stretching up to better assault his delicious mouth. He responded with a hungry moan, stroking his sensual fingers down the side of my torso, pausing at the curves of my full breasts.

The burgeoning hardness in Erik's fine trousers rubbed against my abdomen, fully opening up the floodgates of my desire. If it were 2006, I'm sure someone would have yelled for us to "get a room". I wanted to straddle him and boink his brains out right there in the street.

Eventually we broke free from our blissful kiss-fest.

"I'm not certain I can hold myself until we're home—six more torturous hours before I can bed my wife," Erik complained, shifting his stance to gain relief from the tightening in his trousers.

"I do think we're past the point of marital consummation, dear." I smiled down at my big fat baby bump, hen back to Erik's pained visage.

"But now we are husband and wife. We've an entirely new reason to celebrate."

"And what a fabulous reason it is, not that you and I ever need one, but I can't wait to submit my body to your husbandly wishes," I flirted coquettishly.

"Erik, you looked amazing today. I'm so lucky, blessed, thankful, happy..."

"Gabrielle, the flattery—"

"You must know how I adore you. Erik, if you hadn't found me in the cellar's of the Paris Opera two years ago, I might be lost to the world."

"Darling, I've every confidence you would have survived."

"I didn't know where in Hades I was."

"Hades, indeed," he snorted.

As we neared the train station, hunger and a foot or hand from my child stabbed my insides. "Erik, I need to eat something. Isn't there a café at the station?"

"Directly ahead," he indicated. "I too have a bit of hunger gnawing at me."

Small tables were already filling up with hungry travelers. We nabbed one next to a large shade tree. Erik pulled out a chair and helped me into my seat.

"What luck to be in the shade. Today's warm for early April," I noted.

He glanced skyward, wincing against the sun's glare. "From the looks of it, we could see a good deal of rain during today's travels."

I followed his gaze to the south east and nodded.

"Erik, do you remember how you tried to intimidate me when you discovered me crawling around your old home?"

I received a mild scowl. "I'd no idea who your were or what sort of mischief you were about, dear."

I fiddled with a menu that had just been delivered by an unobtrusive server.

"Oh I know, and it worked for a moment, foreboding man, but then you revealed your underlying goodness. The true Erik, I saw it shining through your menacing facade. All you needed to be good was--"

"--To be loved," he finished. It was one of the few lines in Gaston Lerou'x book that was authentically Erik's.

"Oui, ma chére, when I stumbled upon you I was flabbergasted. A woman, alone and in the fifth cellar of the opera house was an unprecedented occurrence to be sure. Yet there you were, on scraped hands and knees tousled and confused. You wore a red gown of which I was certain had been torn by an attacker, being so very short and all."

"My Todd Oldham. I'd spent a fortune on that dress and the shoes to match." I smiled at the memory.

"Even before your ridiculous claim that you were from the future, before you showed me your twenty-first century advancements, I sensed you were a different sort of woman—intelligent, fearless and quite lovely. Intimidating you did not come easy, I was both intrigued and aroused."

"Aroused, really? I'd no idea. Well I must say, I thought that you were something else, too--very Gothic in your black cape and white mask. And your voice, oh Erik ..." I drifted off in a fog of X-rated memory and blushed.

"Gabrielle, could it be--why you're blushing. My blushing bride, how very unexpected of you!"

"Okay, wiseass. Pragmatic woman though I am, when it comes to you, I am hopelessly addicted."

"My dear, there's no need for embarrassment. Good heavens, we've engaged in nearly every sort of carnal pleasure a couple may, within reason." Erik chuckled, pleased with his droll humor at my expense.

"True, but I have a hard and fast rule about lusting after men I've only known for two minutes. We'd just met and once I'd decided you weren't going to gobble me up like Red Riding Hood's wolf, my thoughts turned to those of a very, very naughty girl."

Erik propped his elbows on the table top, leaned his chin atop his folded hands and smiled impishly. "Do tell me more, my naughty girl."

"Look, Erik, it's time to order. What shall I have, my darling husband, the potato leek soup or a bit of bread and brie?" A young woman stood before us in her starched skirts and apron. _Saved by the serving wench._

"Monsieur?" she peered timidly at Erik.

"I shall have the cheese and bread and for my wife, the same including the soup."

"Erik, that's way too much food--"

"Nonsense, you've been increasing by leaps and bounds these past few weeks—but still the rest of you remains overly thin, dear. You must eat. I'll not have a sickly wife and child to worry about."

"You're looking a bit peeked yourself, I swear Erik, if I'm not around to cook for you, you whittle down to skin and bones," I countered.

"_I_ am a grown man, not a woman gravid with child," he admonished with a dip of his head and an I-know what-is-best-for-Gabrielle expression.

"All right, sheesh. Fatten me up then, bring on the feedbag and goat's milk too, if you have any," I added to our order. I really don't mind Erik's attentions. Independent as I am, I like it when he fusses over me.

A quick bite to eat and it was off to meet the 12:47 to Paris. Erik had our luggage forwarded from the inn to the train. I was looking forward to being home, even though six plus hours of riding the rough rails wasn't my idea of a jolly afternoon.

We'd stalled at the entrance to the train station. Erik touched a long tendril of hair that had freed itself from the scads of tiny hairpins pushed into my scalp. With his sensuous mouth relaxed and open, and his verdigris green eyes filled with adoration, he became a young lad, starry-eyed with love, or perhaps a child who'd just captured his first firefly.

At first I thought he looked worried.

"What is it, sweetheart?" I asked.

"You."

"Me? What did I do?"

"You loved me."

**- () -**

_**Don't you just love Erik?**_

_**I have a request of you, dear readers. When you send me a review, I would like two things, if you've the time; I'd like to know what it is about my story you like and I'd to know what part of the world you hail from—your country, state or town, whatever you feel comfortable reveling. I'm curious to find out where my fan fic travels.**_

_**Thank you!**_

_**-Leesa**_


	87. Ch 87 Homeward

**_Yo reader-friends, Thank you for answering my questions from the previous chapter, it gave me great insight into my writing and I had fun learning about my world of readers. That is one of the coolest things about being on _**

**_-Leesainthesky_**

**Ch 87 Homeward **

Damn train took nearly nine hours to reach Paris.

Some five miles outside of Les Andelys, the train stopped cold. Passengers stirred and looked to one another, whispering their puzzled queries. The conductor and the head porter swept through our car. The later man wrung his hands repeating, "Oh calamity," like a worried mantra.

It seemed that a Paul Bunyan sized ox had staged a sit-in on the tracks. I supposed the fellow was tired. Now, I don't advocate cruelty to animals, but if I'd had a Taser gun handy, the beast would have gotten a good prod in his hind quarters to encourage him to the other side of the tracks.

Even in the best accommodations, nineteenth century rail cars do not count air conditioning as a feature; add a long skirt, petticoats, one bouncing baby, cramped quarters and you've got Gabby soup.

A number of the passengers detrained for some fresh air, but Erik and I remained aboard and moved to the marginally less sweltering dining car. We sat drinking lukewarm lemonade by the car's large open windows. Erik removed his coat and I unbuttoned the top two buttons of my dress. The task gained me a few disapproving stares, but I didn't care, I was getting used to being gawked at.

"Erik, can't you sing to that beast, hypnotize it to get up and wander on?" I asked.

"Sing to the ox, are you serious? They'd surly have us arrested for witchery."

I tossed my ever-present wedding bouquet on the dining table, slid down in my chair and spread out my legs. "I know this isn't very ladylike, but my back is killing me."

"Poor darling, a measure of morphine could relieve your suffering. Would you like me to approach the porter? I'll wager that he could locate a vial."

"Sure, _I'd_ like that, but it's not good for the baby."

"Yes, right. It would travel directly into the little fellow's bloodstream. I forgot, forgive me. Here, sit up and show me where you hurt."

I slowly hitched myself upright and bent forward over the dining table so Erik could massage my lower lumbar.

"This pressure on my spine is intense—ooh, that's good, really good; magic man with magic hands, please do not stop. What am I going to do when I'm nine months along? I'll be crippled!"

"Then I shall cater to your every whim, night and day, Madame DuPuis," Erik crooned to me.

"That's one consolation. I wonder what motherhood will be like—I mean, in 2006, mothers have disposable diapers and baby wipes for soiled butts, and then there's pre-packaged baby food and safe medicine for ear infections and the colic. I grew up a child of modern conveniences, how will I manage without them, Erik?" Weariness and heat was making me whiny.

"If you feel you'll be overwhelmed, I can hire a wet nurse for you, dear. Most wealthy women do employ them, and you are a wealthy woman, Gabrielle."

I lifted my head and blinked at him. "Me, wealthy—I guess I am, huh? Weird. Please don't misunderstand me, Erik. I relish the role of motherhood, even more so in this century than I ever did in the twenty first. Having help might be a good thing, at first anyway, but not a wet nurse. It's good to nurse your own baby. Helps get the ol' body back in shape, and it's better for the little one too.

Erik puffed out his lower lip in that brooding way he had. His eyes became dark slits. Was he thinking, angry, or both?

"Humph, a mother suckling her child—a natural occurrence, yet my own could not bear to sully her pure white breast with the mouth of an unclean beast. Never mind that she had carried me in her womb for nine months," he scoffed.

Erik never ceased to shock me with stories of daily cruelties pulled from the pages of his mind's diary.

"Erik, face it, your mother was mentally ill — severely whacked. Your handicap should have brought forth deep compassion for her child, not rejection. If you were my son, I would have given you all a boy could ever need and desire."

He hands stilled on my back and he sighed despondently, resting his chin on my shoulder. I tilted my head sideways to check his mood and realized that he was starring at my breasts. From anger to lust in less than sixty seconds--that's my Erik, I grinned internally.

"Yes?"

"Your breasts look _amazingly_ delectable. Our child may have to compete—"

"Erik, geez!" I whispered sharply and scanned the train car, hoping that my husband's lusty banter hadn't reached the virtuous ears of our fellow travelers.

He would not cease his ogling, so I swatted him with my handkerchief.

"Shoo, horny man. You've not finished your duty, my back still aches."

"Married one day and already a cross old woman," Erik teased. He nuzzled the curve of my neck, nipping at a spot where an electrical current arched through my body, sparking at the junction between my thighs.

"It is the day of our honeymoon and I cannot have my own bride. It is a travesty! My balls are blue," he rasped darkly into my ear.

I chuckled. "Poor baby. Soon, Erik. And then we'll do it until I can no longer spread my legs for you."

"Promise?" His expression brightened.

"I promise, mon homme passionnant."

If my protruding stomach wasn't an obstacle, I was positive that Erik would have sniffed out a darkened corner, pushed my skirts past my hips and taken me right there on the train. I too hungered to lose myself in the glory of my new husband's body.

Appeased for the moment, Erik resumed massaging my knotted back muscles.

"How much does the thought of raising a child frighten you, Erik?" I asked.

Erik continued to rub while considering my query. "What I fear most is passing on bad traits to my offspring. Raising a human being is a colossal and delicate undertaking if you're serious about it, unlike _our_ mothers."

"Certainly not something a couple should enter into lightly. I'll never understand why those who aren't mature enough to raise a child properly do not take precautions," I said.

"You forget, Gabrielle, in this day and time, they've not much choice. Every civilized nation, save for France, recently outlawed all contraception. The Church has kindly allowed for the natural calendar method."

"Uh-huh, and we know how reliable that one is," I said dryly.

Erik glanced form my belly to my face and smiled affectionately.

"In my thirty short years, I've borne witness to many people who treat parenthood like it's some sort of consolation prize— 'oh wow, we got our freak on and oops, look what happened'. Then they ignore, abuse, or abandon the child. I once covered this story for Channel seven in Atlanta about a boy who was kept in a cage and he ..."

Erik's massaging slowed until his hand merely rested on my back. When I glanced at him, I saw his face had turned stony.

My breath caught in my throat. "Mon dieu, the gypsy camp, how could I have forgotten? I'm always bringing up past unpleasantness, aren't I. I'm such an insensitive dork. Please excuse my boorishness, Erik."

"No, No, It's all right, you meant no harm, Gabrielle," he said. Sitting up straight and strong, he bit back a particularly sour memory. This time I lay my hand lay on Erik's back.

"And you are correct, darling; children should be wanted, cherished and loved. I daresay my own mother could find nary soul to assist her, save for an indentured servant and a benevolent old fool of a priest."

"Ah yes; Rouen, the community who toasted Joan of Arc to a crackly crunch. As for your mother, she was weak-minded. Erik, decent folk do not shun unfortunate innocents."

I twisted to face Erik, and continued speaking softly to him.

"Look at the confidantes you've made since we've been together; Mary Ann and George, Dr. Garrett and her husband, Barbara, the Rouxs. When we're in public people still stare, but often the motive is curiosity, not admonition. They want to know what drove you to hide your face, perhaps you are a war hero—many long for a story, Erik."

"I'll be damned if they get one at my expense." He gritted his teeth and hit the table with his fist.

"Okay, but maybe, just maybe, the world is getting kinder."

He laughed at me as though I had a simple mind. "Kinder. Really, Gabrielle, do you think that to be true? Perhaps on the surface there is more tolerance in your previous world, but allow me to recount the future we have to look forward to: Stalin, Mussolini, Hitler, ethnic cleansing, 9/11 ... Shall I continue, darling?"

"Evil will rub its elbows with us until the apocalypse. At this very second multitudes of world citizens in my century are committing countless random acts of kindness."

I felt the need to defend my contemporaries; _hadn't we evolved beyond the pettiness of pedigree and looks to delve deeper into the hearts and minds of human kind—hadn't we_? I mused.

"One hundred and twenty-nine years from now, we still won't have it right, not even close, but we'll be trying. Technology is a double-edged sword; it will make life easier and communication quicker and more accurate, but in other ways it dehumanizes us. We don't visit as often and handwritten letters are a rarity—there's also the online child porn thing which is just unconscionable."

"Merde, as assiduous as I am in my work, navigating your century sounds far too chaotic for even my taste; I would lose the remnants of my sanity."

"Or discover your personal utopia on earth."

"That, I have already found," Erik squeezed my free hand. I was pleased to see his mood had lightened."

A rumbling of low voices grew steadily from the front of the dining car. The conductor was sweeping up the aisle.

"Mesdames et messieurs, please take your seats. The obstacle has been successfully removed. We will resume our journey post haste,"he spoke urgently.

I craned to look out the window and spied another ox. I couldn't say where it had come from, but it must have been female—it was the only thing in two long hours that had interested the other great beast enough for him to lumber off of the tracks.

"Ah, the love of a good woman," said Erik, smiling.

"Yippee," I said when I heard the steam whistle blow long and loud. The train's wheels chinked into motion and we were back on out way to Paris.

"To stave off what you would call a 'maternal meltdown', would you agree to hired help?" Erik picked up our previous conversation.

"At the manor? Do you honestly want another stranger underfoot, Erik? I'm sure I'll be able to care for our child on my own, that is, if his father has plans to lend a hand."

"Why wouldn't I? I've no lofty notions of parenting being strictly woman's work. I would consider it an honor to assist in the care taking of my own child. You will, however have to teach me—"

"As if I'm an expert in child rearing?"

"More so than I. Your previous life taught you many superior techniques for rearing a child, did it not?"

"Modern diaper changing techniques for one," I said with the seriousness of a shaman.

Erik cleared his throat and slipped his hand into mine. "Gabrielle, I need to tell you something."

"Okay."

"After you fled DuPuis Manor, there was no one to cook other than Madame Roux. Marie, she is a fine woman, yet I've always found her talents in the kitchen somewhat lacking. And as she has reached her autumn years, the burden of keeping up my home wears on her ... I had no choice."

"No choice as to what? You didn't let her go did you, Erik?" _He wouldn't do something so callus_, _would he? _I worried.

"I've gone and hired a second housemaid," he blurted out.

"Come again?"

"Another woman to assist Madame Roux. Oh, Madame Roux's complaints are as long and wide as the Seine. I had to convince the woman that I would never, ever put Henri and her out."

I slapped my hand over my heart, "Thank the Lord, Erik. I love that old couple. They're my surrogate parents," I said winsomely.

"I hired a girl to help with the chores."

"And Marie is okay with this?"

"It is my home and I do as I please." Erik crossed his arms over his chest like a petulant child. My amusement at his irritation made him pout all the more.

"Well, now it's _our_ home," I reminded him gently. "This—girl you've hired, is she trustworthy?"

"Her references are impeccable and Nadir could find nothing amiss in her background. She is properly obedient and meek. I think you will like her, Gabrielle."

"Does she cook, too?"

"No, Marie remains in charge of the kitchen."

"Ha, I wonder if I'll have to wrestle it back from her. Marie is a territorial old gal, you know."

"I'd think you'd rather not involve yourself in menial tasks, Gabrielle? As the lady of the manor and a new mother, it's not usual."

"I don't care, I like to cook. I like to eat my cooking, or at least not Marie's. Are you sure she's French?"

Erik laughed and rubbed my knee lightly. "My dear, if you prefer to cook for us, I have no objections. I, too, prefer that you prepare the meals and Madame Roux will have to, as you say, 'deal'."

"Good," I smiled. "As for this new girl, does Madame Roux like the girl?"

"In a fashion; she approves of her sound work ethic and meek attitude, but finds fault with the foibles of her youth."

I chuckled, thinking back on how Marie used to make me feel like the most incompetent lump on the planet when I first arrived at the manor—before Erik decided I would do better whipping up soufflés than making up beds.

"What's her name?"

"Catalina Caruso. She hails from Italy. Her father is a blacksmith and her mother a former opera singer."

_Figures_.

"With a name like hers, she should be Italian. Does she sing, too?"

"Poor thing cannot find one note in a score of them. She told me so herself."

"Is she ... attractive?"

_Great Gab, now go flog yourself for asking that idiotic question_.

"Attractive? How should I know? I rarely see the girl, save for a brief pass while she assists Madame Roux with the laundry. The girl is quite young, nineteen—an only child. Her résumé claims she served in the house of a Belgian diplomat before coming to DuPuis Manor."

"Why'd she leave the diplomat, then?"

"To be closer to her family; they reside in the next province."

"Erik." I wrinkled my forehead and addressed him with restrained annoyance. "Why didn't you tell me about her before now? Did you fear my disapproval?"

"No. You'd left and I needed someone to assist Madame Roux. I forgot to tell you, Gabrielle, that is all there is to it. Erik cocked his head. One corner of his mouth curled up into a curious smile. "Could it be that you are slightly jealous of the presence of another young female in your nest, Madame DuPuis?"

"Jealous? I _am not_ the jealous type, Erik."

"For someone with your blasé attitude, you did a brilliant job on my underground retreat."

"Why yes, Erik. You traipsed off to Paris. The forged "dear Jane" letter arrived. I discovered 'Le shrine de Christine', complete with a wedding ensemble and shoes to match. I suppose I was a teeny weenie bit—pissed off. Here we were engaged and I found _that_ under wraps—"

His lips stretched into a thin, dour line. "It was cordoned off behind the curtain; I'd not peeped at it in months--I've already explained all that to you, Gabrielle. I was consumed with our wedding plans and my opera and I'd not found time to discard it."

"Whatever."

"Gabrielle," he expelled a long, tired breath. "Please, let's not argue about the past."

An involuntary yawn took hold of me; I stretched my arms and drew my legs up against Erik's thigh. "Oh, don't worry about it; I'm much too pooped to argue with anyone, even you," I said, brushing my lips against his cheek.

"Wench," he murmured, curling a strong arm about my shoulders, an invitation to rest my head on his chest.

I nodded off, waking only when the train slowed down for the final few miles into the Paris station.

"My love, wake now, we're almost home," Erik whispered to me. I roused enough to peer out the window. We were mere miles from the comforts of Erik's enormous goose down bed, my surrogate grandparents, the Roux's, and stately DuPuis Manor.

Ten minutes passed before we could disembark. With the help of Erik's hand beneath my elbow, I stepped out of the train. The soft lights of Paris greeted me, illuminating the dusky night sky. When my feet touched the platform, I knew I'd returned to a place I could call home.

Scanning the throng of cabriolets waiting in the taxi stand, I lifted my face to Erik's.

"Where is our pumpkin coach?" I asked.

- ()-

****

**_Okay, next chapter Gabrielle greats Marie, Henri and the new maid. Eventually we'll have an exciting child birth as well. Stay—er—tuned._**

**_-Leesa _**


	88. Ch 88 The Honeymoon

**_Hello! The reviews have been inspiring, thank you, Godiva truffles for all. Thanks Barb for the beta work (most of it) so if there are boo boos they're mine. Enjoy this chapter and know that it is rated R for randy._**

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**CH 88 The honeymoon **

A peaceful elation kept me from nodding off on the jaunt out to DuPuis Manor. The French countryside, not yet littered with electric lights, was shrouded in darkness. A light mist hovered over the grass sending an earthy bouquet through the open curtains of the coach.

I pulled a wool blanket over my lap and cuddled against Erik. We made the thirty minute ride from the station to the manor in silence. I wondered what thoughts occupied my husbands mind.

Before we'd departed for the manor, I'd noticed the train station's immense brass clock read ten thirty five—not exactly the witching hour, but late for a woman six months pregnant. After the days tempest of activity, I should have been incapacitated with fatigue.

I touched Erik's hand and looked up at him. "We're here aren't we?" I said. I recognized the pattern; the horses would canter along for twenty minutes or so, and then slow to a trot when they neared the long drivewayleading to DuPuis Manor.

"A tiring journey indeed, but yes, my bride, we are home. I see it pleases you."

"Very much so, how could you tell?"

"You manner is bright with felicity when you should be drooping like a hot-house flower."

"It's so good to be home. Thanks for not giving up on us."

"My pleasure, Madame DuPuis." His full lips offered me a twist of a smile,

Our hired carriage made a graceful swing onto the narrow lane, passing through the Gothic iron gates of DuPuis Manor. Normally locked at night, I assumed Erik had sent word to Henri to keep them open for our late arrival.

On the side of the manor house, twin coach lamps released a sphere of warm light into the glooming. A breeze played around us and I breathed in the scent of pine and cherry blossom trees.

Erik unlocked the side entranceand ushered me inside. Not a whisper or a rattle was audible inside. The Rouxs must be sleeping even though I imagined Henri did his best to stay awake for us. I'd missed his cheerful kindness and wisdom. Perhaps if I'd stayed around to talk over the letter business with him, I would have never found the need to leave.

I slogged up the swirl of stairs to the master bedroom; Erik took up the rear in case I faltered.

"Shall we retire, darling?" Erik deposited our bags next to his armoire and turned to me.

"I'm ready," I answered hoping that he meant to leave the unpacking until tomorrow.

I pulled out a gown and some toiletries from one of my bags and made my way to the bathroom. Wanting to look appealing for my husband, I brushed out my hair, cleaned my face,dabbed on moisturizer and a swipe of soft pink lips gloss.

Familiar with the path back to the master suite, I strolled along the darkened hallway. Suddenly, I collided with a body in the dark. I shrieked, the creature shrieked and Erik came running out into the hall with a candle in his hand.

"Gabrielle, what's wrong?" Erik was poised for battle.

I massaged my aching noggin and gaped at the young girl before me. She sat on her behind, rubbing the knot forming on herown forehead.

"Gabrielle, are you hurt, my darling?" Erik took hold of my arm and eyeballed me with concern. Satisfied that I was unharmed, he glared down at the girl. "I see you've met Mademoiselle Caruso, although why in the blazes she's about this time of night I've no idea."

"We only met with our heads, Erik. Please see if she's okay, the girl isn't speaking."

"I—I am all right, Madame. Forgive my carelessness." She leaned her hand against the wall, stood on wobbly legs andcurtsied deeply.

In the candle light, I could see she was of average height and weight for the typical nineteenth century Mademoiselle. A spray of freckles dotted her small nose and round, dark eyesset off by unruly black eyebrows, stared up at me.

"Please, Mademoiselle Caruso, release yourself," I said.Groveling servants made me uncomfortable.

"Mademoiselle, what in the devil's name are you doing creeping about at this hour? Should you not be sleeping in the far wing in the servant's quarters?" Erik questioned sternly.

She shrunk against the wall. Erik had that effect on some people.

"I—um…"

"Cease your chattering and speak."

"Erik, you're scaring her," I said quietly.

"Am not." he shot me a brief scowl.

"Speak, child." This time his tone was softer.

"The servant's quarters are closer to the woods and I heard howling—wolves, I think. It is deadly quiet in my quarters and with the manor being vacant, Madame Roux suggested I move, temporarily of course, to this wing. It is closer to her cottage and not so frightening." Her tone petitioned for mercy.

"Very well," Erik slashed his hand through the air dismissively. "Remember to be more mindful of your surroundings, Mademoiselle. I am the only one allowed the privilege of sneaking about."

She nodded enthusiastically, unsure of how to take Erik's final statement. I didn't know whether to laugh or smack him.

"Which bed chamber do you occupy?"

"The third from on the right, the yellow room, shall I remove myself from it tonight Master DuPuis?"

"No, tomorrow will do. Off with you now. Madame DuPuis and I are exhausted and do not wish hear another peek from you until you serve our breakfast, which we will expect at ten thirty and no sooner. And bring it to the master suite, if you would."

"Yes, Monsieur." She curtsied again."

"Thank you," Erik added and I smiled at her hoping to quell her nervousness.

"Simple stupendous, the girl is across the hall from our suite. Incidentally, Gabrielle, I was _not_ scaring her."

"Yeah you were. Bully."

"I endeavor to be pleasant and restrained in my dealings with the nonsense of others, therefore, I rather resent your implications."

"You used to do the same thing to me, but I knew that beneath the polished arrogance was the heart of a big French stuffed bear."

"Really, Madame, a stuffed bear?"

Erik opened the bedroom door. His essence drifted out gentle waves. Redolent of spice, cedar, and his own unique pheromones the scent both relaxed and excited me.

In an instant, I heard the soft click of the door latch behind me. Erik encircled my wrists with his slender fingers and I found myself captured against his body.

"At last, I have you all to myself," he whispered. "If I were not the sort of man thoughtful of a woman's passions, you'd find your gown torn off and I'd be sheathed inside of you, riding you fiercely." Even in diminished flame from the bedroom's lamps, I could see bright passion in his eyes.

Erik's gruff manner excited me and I wanted him to take me. We tangled our arms around each other like two vine weeds and, with mouths locked, danced sideways toward the bed, falling onto it. I slid my hands beneath Erik's silky robe, taking pleasure in his sleek body.

Years of navigating the layers of the Paris Opera House had sculpted his physique. Constant horseback riding, and the manual labor of keeping up the manor's grounds, had kept Erik in fine shape. I massaged his buttocks and teased the delicate skin of his inner thighs. He opened his legs to me, a silent invitation for more. I complied by trailing my fingertips across his swollen balls.

Erik shivered and hissed, "Merde." In an instant, I was on my back in a pile of pillows.

"Enough of these clothes, I want to see you." He jerked at the ribbons on my gown.

I laughed. "My, aren't you the insistent groom tonight."

"I have been a patient man with the interruptions—no more," he growled and brushed back the halves of my gown. Warm ravenous hands devoured my nakedness.

"My lovely, lovely, Gabrielle." Erik traced delicate circles around my distended nipples and down to the fullest curve of my breasts.

His robe gaped open to reveal a generous hard-on. I reached for it like a child reaching for a lollipop and ran my fingers around the glistening mushroom tip.

Like a crouching tiger, Erik crept between my legs. Keeping his gaze locked on mine, he took the whole of me into his mouth and sucked while slowly flicking his warm tongue around my lips, creating in me, a most maddening pleasure. "Ma pêch, so ripe, so juicy," he moaned and breached my opening, darting his tongue in and out deeply before finally sliding up to the part of me that begged for the most attention. My legs shook when he licked at my tumescent bud. Erik was making me blissfully crazy.

"Erik—Erik, dear, please stop. Now," I begged.

"Tell me why, Gabrielle." His smile was wicked.

"Because I want you to—"

"What does my wife want?"

"She _wants_ you."

He sat on his haunches and smiled down at me. His cock twitched and rose as he breathed.

"Wants me to do what?" This time he was more demanding.

"Mercy, Erik—your wife wants, no, _need _for you to fuck her... Comprenez?"

"All you had to do was ask," he said, his voice silky and thick.

"You!" I pushed at him with my feet and scrambled to sit upright. Erik let his robe slide from his shoulders. The lamplight glowed golden on his skin. I reached over and gently plucked the mask from his face, retiring it to the table on his side of the bed.

Erik's breathing increased and I watched his chest rise and fall in anticipation. "Erik, sweetheart, I'm getting too large for the bottom. I hope you don't mind making love an alternative way," I said.

"Hurting you is the last thing on my mind, Gabrielle. Would the 'Hirana' position suit your needs, my lover?" he asked, referring to a favored position from his cherished _Karma Sutra_.

"I think it a wise and pleasurable choice," I responded.

"Then on all fours, my impassioned doe—in front of the mirror; you know I adore watching. The way your long hair spills over your shoulders when you toss back your head and expel your pleasure noises. And when I pump into you, your breasts sway to and fro—simply breathtaking. If I do not cease my commentary I will come this instant."

My Erik, at once eloquent and rousingly dirty—unraveling me with a word and a look.

"You're not coming without me, mister." I flashed a seductive smile and knelt at the end of our enormous bed. Erik ran his hands over my backside appreciatively and I stretched out like a feline, exposing myself to him.

"My little wife, I love you; you are at once sweet and kind and an absolute putain in the boudoir."

"Every man's dream—a virgin of virtue by day and a saucy whore by night. Men."

"It is not an insult. You simply amaze me. And to think that you are my real, living wife." Erik shook his head.

"And to think, you called me 'little'—big points for you, buster. Now come—let's consummate our nuptials," I purred and wiggled my behind at him.

When Erik filled me, I whimpered with pleasure. Determined not to rush, he clenched his jaw in concentration, but soon animalistic need took over and he began thrusting enthusiastically, chuffing and panting and staring at out images in the mirror.

We had become one in body and soul—a connection so overwhelming it seemed we were hovering over the bed in a projection of passion and love.

Who knew one could feel such things?

I reached back to cuddled Erik's balls.

"Oh! Gabrielle—I— love—you, he breathed between thrusts. His orgasm thundered into me, triggering my release. Delectable convulsions claimed my body and I arched back and cried out.

Erik uttered soft encouragements as he kissed the length of my spine, stopping to nibble on my neck, both of us covered in a sheen of sweat. The smell of sex mingled with the spice of previously burnt incense and candles, granting an exotic musk to the air. He squatted on his heels and fell onto his back. I rolled to one side and crawled up to where he lay on the pillows.

"Come here, my dear wife," he said, opening his arms and gathering me to him.

"Thank you, my dear husband. You were absolutely fabulous, as always," I said with a kiss.

"A monumental pleasure to serve you, Madame DuPuis. I believe married sex may be better than unmarried sex. That was a substantial release you had, Gabrielle." Erik could not hold back a self-satisfied smile.

"When your husband is Le maestro du pénis, I am left craving more. Do you think we disturbed the maid?" I traced his soft trail of chest hair with my forefinger and laughed affectionately.

He smoothed some errant strands of hair from my eyes and stroked my face. "I certainly hope we did. That's what she gets for being underfoot. I'll wager ten francs that Mademoiselle Caruso turns red as a poppy when we see her tomorrow." Erik's hilarity shook the bed.

Soon the power of exhaustion sucked us into slumber. We hadn't even time to freshen up.

"Monsieur DuPuis, rise; it is nearly noon." Madame Roux was barking at us from the other side of the bedroom door.

"What in Napoleon's name is up with that?" I grumbled from somewhere beneath the sheets.

"That is my dear housekeeper pushing her virtue on us. No sane person sleeps beyond noon in her opinion."

"It's our honeymoon," I whined.

"Something of which she cannot know for certain, and if she did, she would remind us that we have already taken advantage of its fruits many times over."

"Monsieur, I have your food for you and Gabrielle; make yourselves decent so I can enter, please."

"She's coming in here?" I hissed.

"Good god." Erik hastily reached for his gown and handed me mine, which had been hanging over his desk chair where he'd tossed it last night.

We threw on our coverings and Erik bid her to enter. "No use in resisting, she'll enter anyway—the woman has the master key."

I found it strange that he would grant Madame Roux that sort of power, but I supposed she was trustworthy.

"You may enter, Madame," said Erik.

The tall oak door inched open and a silver tray laden with food and coffee appeared in the withered hands of Marie Roux.

"Good morning, dears, well it is not hardly morning anymore now, is it. Gabrielle, I have prayed endlessly for your safe return and here you are! Are you well?"

"Very much so, Madame Roux." I smiled at the older woman.

"I trust that you are properly married now?" She glared disapprovingly at us.

"Indeed, Madame. We were wed yesterday in Le Havre." Erik said.

"Wonderful news!" she clasped her hands together. I thought I saw her tear up.

"It is about time. Gabrielle, are you truly with child?"

I folded back the covers to reveal my belly for her inspection.

"Over six months and feeling healthy, Marie."

"A baby, in this house, such a blessed event. Congratulations to you both, Monsieur and Madame DuPuis," she curtsied.

"Thank you for your generous wishes, Madame Roux," Erik reciprocated. "What happened to Mademoiselle Caruso? I instructed her to bring our breakfast."

Madame Roux's expression turned quizzical. "It seems something spooked her late last night, Monsieur; you know how timid the girl is. I cannot believe she was born of theatrical stock. The girl begged off her morning duties by claiming that she was up all night with a sour stomach."

Erik stifled a giggle. "I'm afraid we had a late night head to head meeting in the darkened hallway," I remarked.

"Oh, that would explain the purple knot on her temple," Marie mused.

Her eyes grew wide. She approached the bed and touched my forehead gingerly. "Gabrielle, were you hurt? We must get Doctor Pence to come here and examine you at once."

"I'm unharmed, fine and dandy, not a bump, not a scratch. You needn't summon Doctor Pence. I have a specialist traveling in from London to look after me soon. So please, Marie, do not worry. I know how to watch out for myself."

"What do you know? You are a young woman with no experience in the matter of babies, a novice. I insist you move to your former bedroom at the end of the hall. There I will have better access to you should you require assistance. In my day I was a much sought after midwife."

"How wonderful," I said, forcing a smile. Erik was bossy enough; all I needed was Marie Roux barking orders at me.

"I'm sure you are aware, Monsieur DuPuis had accepted the offer of my services." A point Marie punctuated by crossing her arms.

"Did you now, darling?" I directed the forced smile at my husband.

"Did I not fill you in on her generous offer?" Erik grinned.

I patted his hand condescendingly. "Why no, my dearest, it must have slipped your mind in all of the excitement of our nuptials."

I was not up for battling the strong-willed Marie Roux. Even with three children of her own, she still did not know what I knew about childbirth.

"Marie, I don't wish to take advantage of your good nature. We well need you to run the household. Let my doctor friend do the birthing." I looked at her and then to my new husband for support.

She waved me away with her bony hands. "I'll not hear of it, and that is that."

"Erik?"

"What do I know?" he mumbled and shrugged.

It was going to be a long three months...

**- () -**

_**Please, please review. I shall update soon.**_

_**-Leesa**_


	89. Ch 89 Things Unexpected

**_Hi all, I've been busy celebrating the 4th of July, but now it's back to work we go. I hope you're ready for another chapter. Please follow up with a review for me. Props to Barb and Amy, my beta's for the quick turnaround on this chapter._**

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**Ch 89 Things Unexpected**

Marie insisted on helping me with my morning toilette. During our time together, she filled me in on family news. Her niece Meg Giry, had married the Marquis de Lille, thus clearing the path for the former ballerina's mother to retire her station as Ballet mistress at the Paris Opera. Marie also lectured me about the imprudence of going abroad unescorted and living alone. My good-bye note also displeased her.

"It pains me that you did not see fit to wait for Henri and me to return from holiday, Gabrielle. We take pride in out trustworthiness and we care greatly for your, my dear."

"And for that I am grateful. Please forgive me, Marie. I know I can depend on you, I was quite confused at the time I penned that note," I said, my tone pregnant with regret.

"And deserting poor Monsieur DuPuis; he'd not a clue as to what inspired your flight. When you left no hint of your whereabouts, it was my duty as an honorable woman to tell him of your condition. It was the only estimable choice. I do hope you understand."

I sighed. "I'm actually glad you did. That letter, Marie—it threw me into a more volatile state than I was already."

"Yes, Monsieur DuPuis wrote us of it when he discovered you in Hastings. If you'd only waited until marriage to go to his bed, perhaps the entire mess could have been avoided."

I'd learned that in antiquated times such as these, it was de rigur to believe that what upset the apple cart usually had to do with a woman's un-virtuousness.

"Well, we are married now, Marie, and that's all that matters," I retorted.

"I issued Monsieur DuPuis a verbal throttling for his treatment of you. Regardless of your lack of proprieties, no woman wishes to be put on a shelf for another. Oh, there was never a question of his devotion to you, Gabrielle. Why, even my Henri admonished Monsieur DuPuis for his discourtesy. Henri said that he'd not find another woman as agreeable and would be the best of fools not to marry you the instant he found you."

"Really, he did? Brave man, that Henri of yours." This coaxed a grin from her.

"Monsieur felt terrible for botching the whole affair. Said he only wished to confront the unfortunate Comtess and put to rest their previous business, nothing more. Wicked woman--when she was under my sister's tutelage, she was a sweet and demure thing. Money changes people, Gabrielle," Marie warned.

"Christine is not well, Marie."

"Not well indeed," she scoffed.

I redirected the conversation.

"How are you and Henri and his stable of friends?"

"Winter was hard on my knees--most likely the reason Monsieur DuPuis hired the girl. Henri survived with nary a cold and his horses and cats are all healthy. I do think they missed you. Dante scarcely ate for three weeks after you left."

"The big baby. I'd best deliver an arm load of apples and carrots to the stable and beg forgiveness from my dear quadrupeds."

I rifled through my maternity clothing and chose a cream colored day frock. "This one's not too wrinkled from traveling," I said, giving it a vigorous shake. I hoped it fit, as I was growing daily.

"I nearly forgot … a sign of my increasing age I would imagine; Monsieur DuPuis sent one of your gowns to me, with instructions to purchase more of a similar style but more accommodating for your increasing girth."

"He what? No kidding."

"Your husband has made number of alterations in your name, Madame. You cannot believe bathing facility he created—"

The CD in my head was still stuck on the new wardrobe and her additional comments did not register. "Which dress was it, Marie?"

"The brown one with flowers embroidered on the bodice and hemline. I expedited his request in time for your imminent return to the manor. I was not certain when to expect your arrival. The two of you are as stubborn as two old hens."

_Hello,_ _Madame won't-budge-an-inch_, I chuckled inwardly.

"The gowns are in your armoire, and there are shoes to match."

I approached the wardrobe with amused caution. Erik did like to dress his women. Inside I discovered a dozen lightweight gowns in a prism of spring colors and quality materials. Maternity gowns of the time were equipped with fanciful pleats and ribbons that adapted to the baby's growth. I withdrew a crisp new rose gown trimmed with grosgrain ribbon. Nothing fussy, but it did have a neckline that I deemed rather low for daytime. I slipped the frock over my chemise-clad frame. It fit perfectly.

Marie nodded her approval and assisted with tying the adjustable closures.

"Tell me about this new maid Erik has hired," I said.

"Polite enough, timid one moment then excitable the next; for a time she served as a nanny. Erik thought you might enjoy having a maid to care for the less interesting duties of motherhood."

_Fun stuff like washing dirty nappies_, I hoped.

"Your husband, oh my, I cannot believe you are finally wed, he interviewed some twenty girls before choosing Mademoiselle Caruso.

"Tending to the washing and scrubbing now falls on her shoulders. Perhaps he deems me too worn-out for those duties; I suppose my rheumatism has been trying of late," she said, rubbing at her arthritic fingers."

"I'd say extra help is a good thing, Marie. You'll have more time to visit your children."

"Henri said much the same to me."

"Is she amiable?"

"Mademoiselle Caruso follows instructions well enough, though she is somewhat frightened of the master of the house. Of course, everyone is upon first meeting him."

"And then they discover he's just a puppy in wolf's clothing."

She snorted at me. "A puppy, indeed. Yours are the words of a bride smitten with her new husband."

"Yes," I beamed up at her. "And I couldn't be happier if I were dipped in chocolate and rolled in nuts."

"Nuts you say ... you and Monsieur DuPuis are a suitable match if ever there was one."

"Ha! You got that right, sister," I said, not able to censure my tongue. I laughed so hard I yanked a ribbon out of Marie's hands.

"Do be still. That odd language of yours, Gabrielle. Honestly, you must have been quite a handful for your parents."

I thought of my poor, worried father.

"There, all done. Sit and I will brush out your hair."

"I'm capable, Marie."

"Sit. You are the Lady of the manor and a soon to be a mother. Allow me the pleasure."

The words of a mother whose nest was empty.

"How is Caron, Marie? I missed her uplifting letters."

"Caron is doing splendidly. I have my fourth grandchild, a beautiful baby girl," she beamed.

"Oh, right, she was expecting. A hearty congrats to you, Marie—when did it happen?"

"March nineteenth. Caron was fortunate to have had an easy delivery. You never know what to expect with the first one."

"I know," I said to the little fellow wedged between my bladder and my lungs.

"Do not worry, my dear. I will be by your side for your blessed event."

I did not want to hurt her feelings but I planned on having Erik and, if time allowed, Elizabeth by my side, but I reasoned that the help of an accomplished midwife was a plus in any century.

"Knowing you'll be near is comforting, Marie. With you, my doctor friend from London and Erik assisting me, I have every confidence that all will be well."

Marie stopped brushing my hair and peered around to look me in the eyes. "Oh no, my dear, you must be mistaken. Erik cannot be with you during delivery."

"He's been studying childbirth and delivery, Marie. You know how brilliant Erik is. He is a quick study, his mind absorbs everything. It will be wonderful for him to witness the miracle of birth."

Madame Roux turned pale as London fog, her mouth shrunk into a thin line, and she gawked at me as if I were an alien."

"Gabrielle, only poor provincial women allow their husbands to help with a birthing—even then it is only practiced when no other capable women is at hand. You are neither poor nor provincial."

Naturally, I could not divulge to her that I'd given him tips on basic twenty-first century obstetrics.

"I want my husband with me. I trust Erik."

"It simply is not done."

"He wants to be with me, Madame," I said. My voice rose with my insistence.

"I won't have it!"

"_You_ won't have it? _I_ am the Lady of this manor now and what I say goes, and I say my husband will be delivering our baby."

"Then you are improper and immoral," she snipped.

"Marie!" I could not believe my ears.

"For nearly two years I have turned a blind eye to the nefarious activities in this house; your odd wardrobe, feminist ideas, and casual manner. Even when you became Monsieur DuPuis' lover, I looked away. Henri told me, 'let the man be happy, Marie, his life has been a river of suffering. Gabrielle is good for him,' but this—it is all too much!"

Dumbstruck and hurt, I gawked at her. "I'll admit to being unconventional, but who did you expect Erik to take up with, a demure innocent such as your Caron? Erik and I have an unusual and sacred relationship. Our lives step to an alternate beat, we've had to, to survive, Marie. It is not shameful for one's husband to witness the delivery of his children, it's—beautiful."

"I will not tolerate it!"

Marie Roux slammed my mother of pearl hairbrush down on the vanity to punctuate her point then strode briskly out of the room without closing the door.

_Well, congratulations and welcome back, Gabby._

I turned to my reflection in the vanity mirror and finished fixing my hair. Within three minutes, Marie stormed back in with Erik at her heels.

"Madame Roux, this is not your affair. It is the exclusive decision of my wife and me." Erik's proclamation was terse.

Marie whirled around on her sensible black shoes and pointed a finger at him. "It is not proper, Monsieur."

"I have been trained by a worthy physician. Gabrielle is my wife and she carries my child. What, pray tell, is possibly improper about that?"

"Men should not see something so, _intimate_," she whispered.

"Intimate, Madame? And how do you think Gabrielle became pregnant in the first place?" he bellowed.

My eyes popped in surprise at Erik's inference of "the act" coupled with his use of the indelicate "P" word. Marie's mouth literally fell open. She was seething but unwilling to have a total meltdown in front of the former Opera Ghost. Erik realized his mistake.

"Madame Roux, pardon me, I mean you no disrespect. Times are not what they once were. Being with Gabrielle at the time of our child's birth—I can think of nothing more loving and more proper." Erik sounded like a father soothing an irritable child. "Please, Madame, can we not come to terms on the matter? My wife and I would be bereft should you resign."

Marie stood rigid, crossed her arms over her bosom and glared defiantly at nothing in particular. Was an internal struggle taking place between Erik's valid words and her staunch nineteenth century Catholic upbringing?

Erik perched on the edge of my chaise and gestured to the opposing chair.

"Do sit down, Madame. Dear Marie, if my attendance during the birthing embarrasses you, then you needn't witness the event. I shall require someone to assist in other ways. Keeping the environment and tools sanitary, providing clean linens and assisting Gabrielle with other womanly necessities. But do be clear; I _will _be in the room with my wife." Erik was stern yet gentle with the older woman.

Marie pursed her lips and remained silent for some time. Finally, she looked pointedly at Erik and spoke. "Monsieur DuPuis, I do not pretend to understand a great deal of what you and Madame DuPuis engage in. Henri and I know of your history, Monsieur, it is no secret and I hold nothing against you as you have always been fair and kind to my family. Unprecedented though your wishes are, I will respect them. This is, after all, your home."

She bowed her head at Erik and I expelled a long sigh of relief. The battle of wills was over. There was no spilled blood and our side had won.

From that day on Marie was more of a pussycat and less of a lioness concerning her roll as a midwife. Whenever Doctor visited for my check-ups, Marie was pleasant enough, but after Elisabeth left, she would resume her house work while shaking her head and twittering on about the absurdity of female doctors. Biting my cheek was all I could do to keep from snickering at the old bird.

Madame Roux's preposterous moral attitude was not the only surprise awaiting my return to DuPuis Manor.

Pregnancy proved a never ending Ferris wheel of discovery. As my belly increased, so did my physical discomfort. My once slender ankles resembled locust tree trunks. New food cravings cropped up, many of them impossible to quench being as there were no convenience stores selling cherry cola Icee's, banana flips or Andy Capp's fire crisps in our Provence.

Whenever I bemoaned the absence of these delicacies, Erik offered to have Marie buy out the epicures until she found suitable facsimiles for my cravings. Bless his heart; he could not comprehend why peppercorn foie gras was not the same as fire crisps.

He spent alone time engaging his huge brain in inventive pursuits. The selection of Erik-devised gadgets was dizzying.

After lolling around in bed for a three hour nap on the afternoon of our return, Erik insisted we bathe.

"I did wash up earlier, but I could use a proper soak in a real tub. Will you join me, Erik? My back requires your attention."

Erik made me close my eyes when he led me into a room that I'd not remembered being the location of any bathroom in the manor. A misty cloud of jasmine and sea salt met my olfactory senses upon entering.

"Undress," Erik ordered.

"With my eyes closed? My balance isn't what it used to be, I'll fall on my arse."

"I'll assist, darling."

Erik relieved me of my clothes. There I stood, blind, naked and at the mercy of his whims.

"Can I open them now?"

"Be my guest."

I lifted my hands from my eyes. What I saw stole away my breath.

Before me lay a new master bathroom, a spa really. An enormous Italian marble Turkish bath replaced the claw foot tub. Corinthian columns and gorgeous swan statuettes adorned the multi level bathing area. An overabundance of early spring flowers—jonquils, hyacinths and roses sprang from overfilled crystal vases. Erik had installed a separate heater for water and had also run a network of hoses beneath the structure that circulated water into the bath from a series of small holes in the marble, making a jacuzzi effect via the pressure principle.

"You did this?"

"Naturally," he said matter of factly, surveying his surroundings.

"Oh, Erik, it's stunning, a fantasy land. Wow."

"The water is warm and ready for your use, my sweet."

My heart fell. "It isn't good for a pregnant woman to be in super heated water."

"I wondered about temperature, so I chose not to raise the heat beyond that of a typical bath. Do test it, Gabrielle." Erik encouraged me by taking my hand and leading me to the edge of the first tier and bid me to immerse my hand.

The water was tepid. I looked over my shoulder at and smiled. "It's perfect. Care to join me?"

I didn't have to ask twice. Erik undressed and climbed in beside me. We washed each other, played and relaxed in the enormous bath until our finger and toes resembled little sausages.

The ambitious gadgetry didn't end there. My creative genius had arranged for electricity to run into part of the house, an exorbitantly expensive endeavor. He'd even fashioned several efficient batteries capable of temporarily firing up my trans-century electronics. Erik had also concocted a selection of herbs and tonics found on the ingredient labels of my modern cosmetic tubes and jars. Erik's sincere hope was to please me with nineteenth century adaptations of my favorite modern luxuries. His thoughtful and brilliant work moved me to tears. Never before had anyone done so much to make me happy—ever.

But Erik's most impressive undertaking was the special room he'd designed for our child. With apprehension, he opened the door to the room which, much to Madame Roux's chagrin, was situated directly across from our bedroom and not next to me in our respective rooms.

In one corner of the room, a hand carved and highly polished rocking horse, complete with a real horse hair mane and tail and his own leather saddle, winked at me. Next to an ornate crib sat a gorgeous rocking chair to match. A bureau and changing table with compartments for towels, diapers and other necessities including a wash basin with actual running water filled one entire wall. The room faced the muted light of the morning sun. Clouds seemed to drift over head. Across one entire wall, unicorns and other mythical woodland creatures peeped out from an enchanted forest mural where brave knights and pretty maidens frolicked.

There was no question that my child's talented father had created every bit of this fairy tale. I tiptoed over to the mural for a closer look and brushed my fingers over the arc of a painted rainbow. "You did this, all of this, didn't you?"

"When evening comes, the sun sets and the moon and stars appear," Erik said. Walking to the window, he drew the heavy lapis velvet drapes. The big and little dipper, Cassiopeia, Orion and his dog--all of the sky's friendliest constellations twinkled around a full harvest moon."

Pride marked his features. For once Erik was allowed to create works of beauty not significant to the fickle wealthy but for those whose opinions truly mattered. For his family.

Numb with awe, I looked to Erik. "How did you manage this? If this were 2006, I could figure it out. Special glow-in-the-dark paint, plaster, and if you had the money, Industrial Lights and Magic, but _this_--it's amazing."

"Then it meet all of your needs?" he asked.

I began to cry.

"Is something amiss, darling?"

"No," I whispered. "Everything is perfect, as perfect as it gets, anyway." I approached the chair and took my place in it, running my hand over the detailed scroll work on the arms rests. I saw myself in that exquisite rocker nursing and singing to our baby for hours.

Rocking back and forth slowly, I smiled over at Erik. "My genius husband had been busy."

"Channeling my energy into constructive endeavors was all that kept me sane until I found you safe and sound. These are the fruits of my frustration and of hopeful expectation," he said, retaining his nonchalant air.

"From angst comes absolution," I reflected thoughtfully.

Since leaving England, Doctor Elizabeth Garrettcame to visit me twice. According to her calculations, I was around thirty-two weeks along and increasing right on schedule. Erik's excitement over this baby business fueled his obsession for knowledge. Taking full advantage of Elizabeth's time at the manor, he ran her ragged with endless questions and me with constant "delivery drills.

How little I knew that the fun had just begun.

- ( ) -

**_Please review for me. Our baby is on the way _; )**

_**-Leesa**_


	90. Ch 90 Surprises

_**Chapter 90, can you believe it? Wow. Thanks for your support, gentle readers.**_

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**Ch 90 Surprises**

The typical gestation period for human beings lasts between thirty-eight and forty-two weeks. I was closing in on week thirty-seven.

I was miserable.

Doctor Garrett promised to stay with me from the thirty-ninth week on, cutting it close in my opinion, but unscientific calculations being what they were, I'd have to keep my fingers crossed and pray that the baby would wait until my friend was by my side.

"Elizabeth is a fine doctor, Gabrielle, however with the teachings I have gleaned from the both of you, you ought to put your worries to rest," he reassured me.

"I trust your ability, Erik, I do, but you've never really done this before," I said referring to an actual baby delivery.

We were walking through the rose garden where most of the bushes were bursting with spring blossoms. Erik paused, his solemn gaze lost in the distance, he opened his mouth briefly, but reconsidered, closed it and turned to face me.

I frowned and touched his arm. "Erik, what is it sweetheart?"

"Gabrielle," he began cautiously. "When I was in Persia, the Shah allowed me to study at the side of the court doctors. I have viewed birthing and I have studied a woman's anatomy at length."

_Mine perhaps, but he'd already told me he'd never touched another living naked woman in his entire life_. _I supposed C-sections didn't count--not very sexy and all._

My husband's words puzzled me. "What do you mean, Erik?" I asked slowly.

"Let's sit." He indicated an ornate wooden garden bench flanked by two fragrant lilac bushes.

We sat and faced each other; Erik took my hands in his and began. "Gabrielle, I witnessed dissections of cadavers while under Dr. Garrett's tutelage. MY curious mind thirsted for knowledge of all things human. In some way, I suppose I wanted to see if others were so different from me. One woman had been carrying a child. She was very far along and a caesarian section became necessary to save the child, one of the Shah's numerous offspring. "

"How did it go?"

"They child survived, however the mother died. Concubine's lives are worth little in the eyes of the court.

"Women are brood mares. Primarily used to increase the dynasty," I spat with repulsion.

"Unfortunately, the mother may have survived had the physician taken more care handling her internal organs. I studied the procedure closely and deduced that there was a better way to achieve favorable results. I told the physician so--he did not appreciate my helpfulness, however the next time he deemed a caesarian necessary he insisted I perform it."

My expression must have expressed the shock I felt. Erik nodded gravely. "Yes, Gabrielle, and I succeeded in not only saving an heir, but the mother, too. Little did I know that the mother was a favored wife of the Shah. It was a test that would have cost me my head had I failed." His smug smile told of the satisfaction he gleaned from fooling fools who dared test his intellect.

"Oh yes, and thence forth, the Shah commanded I attend all difficult birthing, an unprecedented occurrence. It was a law of the court that no man, save the Shah and his physician, who was a eunuch, be allowed access to the royal twats. 'Course they assumed that I, too, had no sexual appetite."

An errant and rather loud snort escaped me causing Erik to raise his eyebrow.

"Your desires are passionate and simple, yet the depths of your experiences are un-plumbable aren't they, Erik? I wonder--if I were not a wellspring of future knowledge would you find me so engaging?"

"Gabrielle, my sweet, you are bright and cleaver and most appealing—and you love me. I am now a complete man. By God's grace, I hope you _never _have an opportunity to access the darker tomes in the library of my mind."

The day was warm and slightly muggy, yet I shivered at his nightmarish inference.

"You. Are. Amazing." I leaned over and kissed Erik's unmasked cheek. I was in awe of this man. Were there no endeavors he could not ace?

_Acceptance_, I though sadly.

"That was twenty years ago. Today we have ways to sterilize instruments and use antibiotics and medication for pain if need be. I can care for you should an emergency arise." He smiled sweetly at me, his eyes crinkled with affection.

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

A few times in the coming week, my body treated me to a prelude of things to come. I'd been in the barn messing with the horses, helping Henri brush them and treating them to carrots from my garden. At first I ignored the series of small contractions, but when a full on gut-wrenching contraction pushed me to my knees, I cursed loudly from the pain and curled up in the straw trying to catch my breath. More followed just as Henri walked back into the barn and seeing me doubled over, he rushed to my side, ordered me to lie still and bolted to the house as fast as his sixty-seven year old legs would allow.

Soon Erik, followed by Marie, burst into the barn. He carried me to bed and administered warm compresses on my back and stomach while everyone waited. Eventually the contractions subsided and when they did, I realized what had happened.

"Braxton Hicks—er—false labor alarm, that's all," I told my audience."

"Ah, yes, false labor. It can be frightening, no? In one instance, a mere flutter then without warning, a crippling clench," said Marie while switching out another warm compress. I felt she was sharing past intimacies with me.

"I can hardly wait for the main event."

"You will fare well, Gabrielle, you are a strong woman."

I managed a wan smile. "Thank you, for your confidence, Marie. I hope you're right."

"She needs her rest now, Monsieur." Marie turned to address Erik.

"I agree. Close the drapes to the west side of the room, Marie. It will keep the room cooler. I'll wait quietly by the bedside and read. That way Gabrielle will benefit from my immediate assistance, should she require it."

"Oui, Monsieur DuPuis." She complied with Erik's request, drew the drapes and exited the room quietly.

Erik brushed his fingers over my temple. "Rest if you can, my sweet. I'll be here when you need me."

"Let the games began, huh?" I joked.

"That's my Gabrielle, always making light of things when she's nervous."

"What, you want me to scream, cry and kick my feet? A lot a good that would do," I grumped at him.

He chuckled lightly, continuing to sooth me with touch and with song and crooned me to sleep with a dreamy lullaby.

Ah, the power of Erik.

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Adjusting to marriage and pregnancy as a twenty-first century woman stuck in a nineteenth-century world never ceased having its trials. Open minded as Erik was, he agreed with Madame Roux's archaic idea that women should remain in bed during their final month.

The morning after my false alarm, Erik met me with an early breakfast and instructions to stay put for the day.

"What, stay in bed all day? I'm not an invalid, Erik. Exercise is good for the baby," I protested.

"We should not take even the mildest of chances, Gabrielle. I shall bring you books, food, whatever you wish. You are usually more obedient when I send you to bed, dear."

"That's for fun, this is not fun, or necessary," I pouted.

"Very well then, eat your breakfast and rest a while. Perhaps we can walk in the garden or read in the library if the idea of being confined to the bedroom displeases you," he acquiesced.

The two of us having come to a compromise, I finished my breakfast and readied myself to join him in the library. An instant clap of thunder and subsequent downpour ruined any thought of a garden stroll.

Rain dribbled en masse down the panes of the library windows, creating an environment perfect for sitting and sipping herbal tea, munching macaroons and reading. I was enjoying a trashy romance novel I'd bought two years ago in the Chicago airport yet never read; while Erik hummed and perused the pages of some large leather bound medical book Elizabeth had gifted him with during her last visit to the manor.

The patter of Marie's footsteps popped the bubble of our snug little world.

"Monsieur DuPuis, Monsieur Khan has come to call," she announced, and waited for his reply.

I looked up from my reading and turned to Erik. "A visit from Nadir? I haven't seen him in months. Gee, I wonder what's up."

Shrugging, Erik ignored Marie's quizzical stare at my odd phrasing. "Please escort Monsieur Khan to the library and then prepare a tray of coffee and sweets, if you would Madame."

"Your wife makes certain we have an abundance of pastries in the house," she smiled and retreated to fetch Nadir, returning in moments with the dark Persian.

"Thank you, Madame Roux," he nodded pleasantly to Marie before turning his attention to Erik and me.

I was anxious to know if he'd discovered anything further about the mysterious Signor Vincenzo.

"Nadir, so very good to see you again," Erik said with affable affection. He stood and approached his old friend, welcoming him with a brief hug and the customary kiss French men are wont to do.

Nadir turned his attention to me. In an instant, his benign demeanor changed to one of amazed delight. "My dearest Gabrielle," he said eyeballing my girth." You have changed considerably since we last met. Motherhood suits you well, dear."

"You think I've changed? A gross understatement, Nadir," I laughed and embraced him, something that always made him a bit uncomfortable as Persian men didn't typically embrace women who were not their kin.

"I am also a wife. Did Erik have a chance to write you?"

"Married, you say?" His gaze darted between the two of us as he struggled to articulate a response.

"You see, Nadir, after locating Gabrielle in Hastings, I kidnapped her, returned to the manor and forced her into marital servitude," Erik explained clasping his hands behind his back and watching Nadir.

I hid a smile, observing the Persian's expression of concern.

"Indeed, he did," I said conspiring with my husband. "A woman in my condition and with Erik's considerable powers of persuasion, I dare not deny him."

"Oh Erik, after all these years can you still not govern your irascible urges?" He sounded deeply disappointed.

Erik's countenance broke. He laughed and waved an elegant hand at Nadir. "Friend, after all these years, you still cannot discern when I am having a bit of fun at your expense."

The Persian's ebony brows knitted into a puzzled frown. "You, Monsieur, are still an incorrigible trickster."

"How true, and you'll be pleased to know that Erik's irascible urges have been overridden by ones of a more amorous nature," I said, winking at my husband and rubbing my belly simultaneously.

Normally decorous in front of an audience, Erik swelled with masculine pride at my subtle compliment to his virility.

The Daroga, a man not entirely comfortable with my new-age-traveler openness, averted his gaze and cleared his throat while Erik maintained his highly pleased expression. "I take pleasure in your fruitfulness—regardless of your mirth at my ignorance. When did it happen—the nuptials?"

"April eighteenth, on the return trip to Paris, Plans for a celebration ceremony at the manor are in the works, after the baby is born," I replied.

"My friend, may your remaining years of happiness and your children be many." He bowed to Erik.

"And my fondest appreciation to you, Monsieur," Erik reciprocated the geniality. Practically choking on the "many children" portion of his blessing, I barely mustered a polite nod.

Marie entered with the coffee, a large plate of apricot scones, and butter from the morning meal. I helped myself to one half a cup of coffee with heavy cream and sugar, and a scone smothered in fresh butter.

After a good half an hour of banter about the economy, Erik's latest projects and other scraps of news, Nadir put his saucer on the service cart and leaned back into his overstuffed chair.

"The reason for my visit today is not merely one of a social nature. I have information for Madame DuPuis."

"Signor Vincenzo?" I jumped at his words.

"Not a great deal, but I think it may be of some interest to you both."

Erik sat with his legs crossed and the cup and saucer poised on one knee. "Continue only if the news will not upset my wife," he warned.

"I'm fine Erik, really." I shot him a quick look.

"I doubt my findings are, but I thought you would like to know."

"Please, Nadir," I implored.

"Well, it would seem," he said, accepting a second cup of the thick fragrant coffee, "that our Seignior Vincenzo spends a great deal of time at the home of Signora Lia Adolpho."

"The late composer Adriano Adolpho's widow?" Erik asked with a hint of suspicion.

"Indeed, the same."

The two men eyed each other and I couldn't make out if they were exchanging a secret code or a simple curious glance. "Signor Vincenzo is the manager of a popular opera house; what's so odd about his visit to a composer's widow?" I asked.

"Signora Adolpho's maiden name was Vincenzo," Nadir replied.

**- ( ) -**

_**Yes, for those who've asked, a baby's coming soon. Please review for me and thanks for reading.**_

_**-Leesa**_


	91. Ch 91 interlopers

**_Thank you Barb, my beta for this chapter, which is short, but moves things forward. Happy reading!_**

**_-Leesainthesky_**

**Ch 91 Interlopers**

Erik scrutinized Nadir carefully, astonished by his revelation. "Do you mean to say Signore Vincenzo and Signora Adolpho are related?"

"Precisely. After leaving Signora Adolpho's home, I followed Vincenzo to a nearby café and engaged him in conversation and we made our introductions. I told him my name was Masood Nafisi and I was certain I'd seen him before; regrettably, my feeble old mind did not allow me to remember where.

Antinio Vincenzo suggested the Lyric Opera House, which he managed. I confided that the opera held no charm for me since my dear wife passed on. The only place I ventured to on a regular basis was my son's house on the Rue Maybeer."

"Did he 'bite the bait'?" I asked and bit into the tender scone.

"Indeed. He revealed that his widowed cousin also lived on the Rue Maybeer and perhaps I had spied him on the way to her home. I agreed it was possible and asked him if I might know of her? 'Doubtful,' he replied. Evidently the woman is not well and spends most of her days indoors.

"The condensed version, if you please, Nadir," Erik commanded politely.

"When he told me her name was Signora Lia _Vincenzo _Adolpho, I wondered aloud if he were somehow related to the late composer Adriano Adolpho. He confirmed that they were indeed cousins by marriage as Madame Adolpho's maiden name was Vincenzo."

"You wily man, you." I winked at Nadir.

"I offered my regrets for his family's loss, saying that Signore Adolpho was a significant talent. I then enquired about Signora Adolpho's health. Vincenzo said his cousin was mentally stronger than her husband; her shortness of breath kept her from her rose garden in the spring."

"I'll bet she suffers from severe allergies or asthma," I said and Erik nodded as if he understood my diagnosis.

"Evidently Signore Adolpho was a sensitive man whose nervous condition kept him a prisoner of his own mind. Vincenzo swore to me that someday he intended to 'make those responsible' for his late cousin's condition pay dearly. In that moment, I sensed great wrath in the man."

"Ooh, not a good sign. I'd heard the composer wasn't wrapped too tightly," I said.

Erik's countenance morphed into something unnamable and alarming.

"Do you know of his work, Erik?" Nadir asked.

"The ' composer,' as he liked to call himself, made _me_ appear sane. His better scores began promisingly enough; delicate as angel hair woven within a cacophony of brittle intensity. Sadly, by the third or fourth movement of most scores, the music became a muddled mess of misshapen notes, murdering any hope of success. Signore Adolpho struggled for recognition and success among the beau monde, but unlike me, his ideas were above his talent—a fault which eventually drove him mad. The more my work became accepted and admired, the farther down he spiraled into his abyss of insanity."

"My guess is that Signore Vincenzo hopes to keep the composer's art alive in the only way a man with no musical talent can—by making his mark in the theatre. We music lovers with little talent contribute where we can. I share the Italian man's modis operandi." I said, perching my folded hands high atop my belly and looking from Erik and Nadir.

Erik left his place to join me on the divan. He hooked an arm around my shoulder and gave me a knowing smile. "You have many fine talents, darling."

"You're blinded by my charms, sweetheart."

"As for Signore Adolpho, I once eavesdropped, quite by coincidence, on one of his tantrums. It was at the Verdi Opera House in Pisa. I was waiting outside the artistic director's office to firm up the terms of my latest contract when I heard two men arguing."

"Arguments, your favorite sport!" My cajoling earned me a sour look from Erik. Nadir, unused to watching his former phantom friend suffer any sort of teasing, choked on a sip of coffee.

"May I resume, darling?" asked Erik with affected sweetness.

"Please do." I replied, smothering an amused smirk.

"Thank you. As I was saying, I heard a man yelling in angry Italian that he was a true Viennese artist, not a French fraud. Signore Parelli, the opera's artistic director, feigned sympathy with the man's plight. He said, 'Adriano, it is not I, but today's bohemian audiences who make these decisions. They clamor for the rich darkness, death, and forbidden erotic undercurrents found in Monsieur DuPuis' operas. It is my job to procure entertainment not only for artistic excellence, but its ability to fill seats as well.' Signore Adolpho countered by saying he could not fathom the idiocy of the public for accepting my overblown operatic drivel as artistic brilliance while remaining blind to the true genius of his work. How dare he compare his elementary piffle to my music!" Erik spat.

In my mind's eye, I saw Erik sitting and listening to Adolpho's insults—fists clenched, eyes glinting dangerously, steam puffing from his ears, ready to pounce on the man in an instant. I retained a neutral expression as I listened to the rest of Erik's recollections.

"How did Adolpho react to Parelli's words?" Nadir inquired.

"Silence, followed by a cry so feral the hair on _my_ arms bristled. Things crashed and thumped against the door and the walls of the office. I considered bursting in to rescue Parelli, but then I heard him trying to appease Adolpho, begging the man to conduct himself as a gentleman. Should he polish up his best work and re-submit it, Adolpho may have a chance at a commission with the opera house. Signore Adolpho resumed his wailing, 'A chance, Vincent? Did you tell that mask wearing devil to polish up _his _work?' Signore Parelli apologized to Adolpho, for what, I do not know, and asserted cautiously that my work was more a different sort of music for a different time. The audiences demanded DuPuis. Signore Adolpho began to weep."

"The poor man, sounds as if he didn't have a clue," I said, rocking back and forth against the leather divan's cushioned back.

"It was all pathetic, really. I knew if Adolpho found me in the waiting area, there would be words . . . and blood -- his. So, I hid within the recesses of the anteroom until he left."

"Serious drama and trauma for sure."

"Quite. Shortly thereafter, one of his operas opened to brutal reviews at a lesser known venue in Florence. Weeks later I read in the paper where he'd taken his own life—blown his brains into the orchestra pit of La Fenice Opera House in Venice," Erik said flatly.

"Egad!" I said, reacting to the violence by cradling my belly.

"Forgive me, dear."

"What I don't get is that whenever we meet, Vincenzo acts as if he _knows_ me; knows about my origins," I said, whispering so the inquiring minds of Marie and Mademoiselle Caruso wouldn't hear.

"Or is he a garden variety lecher and I'm paranoid enough to read more into his intentions? What do you guys think?" My gaze flicked from Erik to Nadir.

Nadir looked at my husband. "You've been privy to their exchanges, what is your assessment?"

"Where my wife is concerned, Signore Vincenzo is overly attentive. Otherwise, I find him irritatingly solicitous—a pesky gnat of a man and I should like to squash him." Erik did not blink when he said this.

"When I was away, did you have any more dealings with him?" I asked.

"A letter arrived from the Lyric in December. In it, Signore Vincenzo wished to discuss arrangements for a new opera, passing along the artistic director's request for something romantically devious; a black comedy, perhaps. In closing, he bid cordial greetings to my lovely fiancée, Madame Thomassen. I informed him in my return correspondence that Madame Thomassen was no longer my fiancée and therefore not in residence at the manor. In January when I met with the Opera board I found he'd taken a brief sabbatical."

"In the middle of the season?"

"Nothing but a spoiled bluenose dabbling in the arts, I supposed. Saved me from having to pummel him into submission." Erik laughed and refilled his coffee cup.

"Let us hope this is the end of the matter. I'll keep my nose on his trail," Nadir assured us.

"Amen to that," I said, toasting him.

Erik's head jerked toward the library's double doors. Mademoiselle Caruso teetered on the threshold, clutching onto another plate of scones.

"Monsieur DuPuis, Madame Roux has gone to market with Monsieur and asked me to deliver these to you."

"Yes, come on then," Erik motioned for her to enter the room.

"Good day Mademoiselle Caruso, how are you?" I asked pleasantly.

"Very well, Madame, and you?" she replied in her girlish voice.

"Better now that you've brought more scones," I said as both gentlemen laughed politely. She scanned our faces quizzically.

"My condition," I explained. "It keeps me in a ravenous state."

She mouthed an "oh" and set the plate on the server.

"Anything else for you," she asked."

"I believe we're set for the afternoon, Mademoiselle," I said.

"I'm off to the laundry. I'm afraid I won't hear the bell in there, should you need me."

"No matter, we've all required for a pleasant afternoon," Erik said, waiting for her exit.

After an uncertain pause, she and curtsied and left.

"An addition to your staff, Erik? You surprise me," Nadir said arching his brows.

"What, pray tell, is so odd about having more people in my home, Daroga? Three is hardly a full staff." Erik said with velvety sarcasm.

"A wife, a child, welcoming more strangers into your home? Even as far back as Persia, I knew the heart of a true gentleman lay within your dark shroud. I salute you Erik."

"Dear friend, I am, and have always been, more than a deft chameleon. Gabrielle has shown me that I am first and foremost, a man." He picked up my free hand and kissed it tenderly.

"Besides, Madame Roux needs assistance and soon my wife will have a child. The new girl is a bit awkward but comes with impeccable references," Erik answered.

"Have you chosen a name for your offspring?"

"If it's a boy, and I'm pretty sure he'll be Erik. For a girl, Hope, which is self explanatory," I said, happy to indulge my new favorite pastime; talking about our baby.

"Gabrielle insists on Erik. I am not certain I wish to burden a child with my name. I've not led a charmed life."

"Oh pooh, you are a king and your son, a prince who deserves to carry your name." I met and held my husband's adoring gaze long enough to make Nadir squirm.

"Yes, Erik, a fitting name indeed." Nadir broke the awkward silence and leaned forward. "Do you think we've privacy?" he continued.

"The Roux's will be gone for hours and Mademoiselle Caruso is at her wash. I doubt anyone can hear us except for the walls."

Erik agreed and focused on Nadir's concerned visage. "What is on your mind, my friend?"

"I've been wondering about Madame Thom—DuPuis, how lovely a sound it is to hear your name linked with a woman's, Erik—anyhow, how have you been faring in our backward century, dear?"

"I manage. I think it's like anything one does that's foreign. At first you miss what you do not have eventually making do with what is available until you become more accustomed to the adjustments. There are small joys, and even days when I forget about some of my twenty-first century habits—except for my family, that is. But hey, you can't have it all, can you?"

Empathizing with my loss, both men looked at me dolefully. The main difference between their losses and mine was that what I mourned could not be rectified. There had been no rejection, no death, only a long century and a half between my family and me.

"But I sure do miss a good frozen piña colada on a hot day; can't get those here," I laughed, trying to brighten the mood. "Nadir, you've just gotta see what Erik did for me while I was sowing my wild oats in England."

I rose from the divan clutching Erik's hand. "Come Nadir, you must see Erik's new creations. They're nearly as grand as a Persian Palace. My husband is the most brilliant and generous man alive," I enthused, ignoring Erik's protests of my efforts to show off his work. Nadir threw back his head and laughed at my enthusiasm.

"I see who is the master here," he quipped.

Erik splayed his hands in surrender. "What can I do, Daroga? The woman is a sorceress."

I dragged Nadir around the manor, showing him the spa and the baby's room. Despite witnessing Erik's genius on a much grander scale, he still displayed amazement at the brilliant creations.

The tour completed, we returned to the first floor and walked down the long hall leading to Erik's music room. What a sight we were; the pregnant trans-century woman, the tall immaculately dressed masked man, and the elegant former chief of police. A better matched band of misfit friends I would never find anywhere, in any time.

When we neared the music room, I felt a draft. Erik must have, too, because we both turned to find the source and noticed the door was ajar. Erik approached with jaguar like stealth and slunk into the room. Standing behind him, I couldn't see, but I heard the low feral growl of his contempt. "What do you think you are doing, Mademoiselle? Cease this instant or you will not live to snoop again!"

Mademoiselle Caruso screamed with the shrill intensity of a civil defense siren and dropped something.

Puzzled, I peered around Erik's rigid frame. Strewn about Mademoiselle Caruso's feet were the broken pieces of what had been my laptop computer. I'd been trying out my new batteries and carelessly forgot to lock it away in Erik's wall safe. The snoopy girl had found it.

"What in the fuck are you doing woman?" I screamed while Erik restrained me with one arm.

"You!" Her face was twisted into a terrified grimace. She jabbed a finger at me and backed up against the window sill and screamed, "Get behind me, you devil woman!"

"Wha—? How dare you call me names, you stupid wench. I ought to kick your—oh, crap. Erik!" I sank to my knees and doubled over in pain.

That was the precise moment our child chose to begin his exodus from my womb.

**- ( ) -**

_**Dun, dun, dun . . .**_ _**Review please!**_ _**-Leesa**_


	92. Ch 92 Surprises II

**_Hey readers, your reviews have prompted me to post this quick update. Grab a bowl of your favorite ice cream (Rocky Road here), and enjoy the chapter._**

_**-Leesa**_

**Ch 92 Surprises II**

In a flash, Erik knelt beside me and supported me with his hand against my back.

"Gabrielle, darling, what is it?" he said, deeply concerned.

"A contraction and I don't think it's a fake one. Little cramps and a backache pestered me most of the night and this morning, but I didn't think much of them." I searched his face, sobering when I grasped what was happening. "Erik, I'm really in labor."

"Here, clasp your arms about my neck; I'll carry you to our bed."

"No," I groaned. "I think I can stand and make it myself. I'd rather you deal with her first. Erik, do not allow that girl to blab her stupid mouth about what she can't comprehend." I gestured toward the still petrified Mademoiselle Caruso.

He whipped his head around to stare at the girl. "Witch!" she shouted at me again.

"Be quiet, or you'll find yourself in a pot for stew," Erik threatened, and by the anger in his voice, I felt he meant to do her harm.

"Erik, you may not kill her."

"She doesn't know any better. A good spot of fear is to our advantage," he whispered.

"Oh . . ." I gritted my teeth against the pain. As suddenly as it began, the contraction went away. I guess its duration at thirty for forty seconds.

"Can we not subdue her momentarily and deal with her later?" Nadir asked.

The two men observed each other and nodded in a silent code of acknowledgement.

Nadir leaned down for instruction. "You know where I keep the chloroform; assist Gabrielle, then bring the bottle to me—I shall deal with her," Erik said.

"Are you able to stand?" Nadir asked me.

"Um-hmm, all I need do is make it to the bedroom. I doubt Erik's business will take long," I said, rising carefully, my eyes glued to the terrified maid.

Nadir put his arm around my waist and helped me stand. As we made to leave the music room, Erik approached Mademoiselle Caruso. She whimpered "no" over and over again, her voice heavy with fright. Erik spoke to her with the same soothing, low tones I'd heard him use with frightened animals.

"Do not fear me, Mademoiselle, you have no enemies here. I wish to help you. To make you understand that which you do not. Gabrielle will soon give birth and she needs you. Please, sit down and rest, Mademoiselle." That was the last thing I heard before my water broke, dribbling down my legs, into my long skirts and onto the expensive Persian runner in the hallway.

"Ick, I'm sorry, Nadir," I said pausing, uncertain as to what I ought to do. "Um, get me to the bedroom, I'll change, lie on the bed with my feet up and wait on Erik. I'll be fine until you take care of Mademoiselle Caruso."

"Madame, you're in labor! I cannot leave your side," he said.

"Sure you can. I may be in labor, but I am hours away from delivering. There is no need for you to sit and watch as if I were a burgeoning campfire."

By the time we'd reached the bedchamber, seven or eight minutes had passed since the contraction in the music room. I began to relax, when another one hit me hard, and I struggled to contain my reactions since I didn't want to alarm Nadir.

"Okay, I'll change and rest, you go help Erik," I said, commanding the Daroga of Mazanderan.

"You are certain, Gabrielle?"

"Yes, go." I smiled at Nadir and closed the bedroom door.

I stood in the cool, dark bedchamber and scanned the room, thinking about Madame Caruso and her snooping. Was she merely a curious girl, like I once was, or something more?

_What's wrong with your logic, Gab_? _Who_ _else would she be_? I reasoned. _Erik will rectify the situation and all will be back to normal_ . . . _whatever that is_, I reassured myself.

I sighed and put all thoughts of the little maid on hold. Other concerns demanded my attention, like getting out of these soggy clothes. I stripped, tossed everything in the hamper, cleansed myself with water from a large basin and slipped on a soft, loose cotton nightgown.

Near our bed, Erik had pre-arranged an array of instruments on a narrow table. Scissors, a scalpel, an enormous thermometer, and other goodies steeped in a beaker of alcohol. I cleaned my hands in the wash basin and took a peek beneath the sterile white covering to make sure everything else he needed was in check; There as a syringe, a stethoscope, a suction bulb for clearing the baby's air passages, woven silk for tying off the umbilical cord and anti-bacterial hand wash from my dwindling stash of twenty-first century items.

Folded and stacked next to the table was a mound of clean bedding, sterilized wash cloths and thick pads of cotton wrapped in silk.

I readied the bed for coming attractions, removing his expensive down duvet and spreading an old blanket and two sterile sheets on top of each other over it. At the foot of the bed, I placed three folded sheets and stacked up numerous pillows to lean against at the head as I intended to deliver sitting up rather than the popular nineteenth-century "flat on the back" method. I made sure the chamber pot was nearby, too.

All ready, except for Doctor Garrett or a midwife._ Freakin' peachy, _I thought, gingerly hoisting my gravid body onto the bed.

_Never fear, Erik is near; wild horses couldn't keep him away_.

While I waited, I thought about my father and how happy he would be to see his little girl married to a protective, intellectual artist, and giving him his first grandchild.

I imagined dad and Erik together; dad's genial logic matched against Erik's arrogant genius, discussing the possibilities of what others deemed impossible, my father doting on his grandchildren. Sparse tears bled down my cheek and kissed my smile.

A soft breeze trickled in through the open balcony doors and I heard birds chirping in the bushes outside. To me, the air smelled like rain. I'd noticed cumulus clouds on the horizon in the morning and wondered if a storm might accompany my labor.

Twenty minutes had passed since the discovery of Mademoiselle Caruso nosing about my business and I was getting antsy. On the verge of panic, I closed my eyes, relaxed my limbs and breathed deeply and slowly.

Serenity is not an easy task with your body clenching in on you every few minutes. When the door clicked open, I sprang up on my elbows. Erik entered with Nadir on his tail, a steaming stockpot of water in the Persian's brown hands.

"Over there, by that table, Nadir," Erik instructed.

"My love, how are you?" he asked, sweeping to my side and sitting next to me on the bed.

"In labor, but I'm okay—I think, having never done this before."

"How are your contractions?"

"Every eight minutes and forty-five seconds long at present. I may be stuck in this phase for hours. All we can do is monitor the progression, the old 'wait and see'," I said.

"Madame Roux will return before nightfall. She'll be of some assistance whether or not she approves of me being here." Erik said this with a smile. He knew Marie would not pass up her chance to help deliver our child.

"Funny old woman, bless her heart," I laughed. "Oh—another one." I glanced over at the bedside clock ticking down the seconds. "Five minutes now. Damn, these buggers are getting stronger."

Erik's face was lined with concern. "Tell me, Gabrielle, what must I do to make you more comfortable?" He pushed aside the loose hair from my damp brow.

"Tell me what you did with Mademoiselle Caruso?"

"Dismembered her and made a stew. She's in there." He nodded toward the steaming stockpot that Nadir had placed on the table next to the medical instruments.

"You didn't have enough time for stew, funny man. What'd ya do?" I grinned, took his hand in mine and placed it on my belly.

"Calmed her with my voice enough to administer a whiff of chloroform, and locked her in her bedroom. The pesky girl won't bother us for hours and Nadir will check on her from time to time. My plan is to purge her memory through hypnotic suggestion when she begins to emerge from the drug."

"Whew, what a trip that was, seeing her with my laptop, and having her call me a devil and a witch—didn't need that," I said.

"I'm certain she thinks we're all a bit suspect." Erik said, twisting his mouth into a grimace. Presently, she is not my main concern; you are, dearest. I see you've readied the room. Allow me to wash up and I'll return to your side." He kissed my lips, removed his jacket and waistcoat, and walked to the wash basin, which Nadir was filling with some of the hot water from the pot.

"Friend, I realize this is not your cup of tea; however, I may require your assistance in fetching certain items for me. Do wash up, I want no errant germs near my newborn."

I giggled at the sight of Erik playing doctor to Nadir's nurse.

The two men rolled up their shirtsleeves and scrubbed with the lye soap and steaming water, rinsing and drying with clean white towels.

"Now, my love," Erik said, joining me on the bed once more. "How may I serve you?"

"Stay, rub my lower back and tell me a story?" I asked, reaching out to touch the back of his hand. "The beauty of your voice will sooth me."

He nodded and motioned for me to lie on my side, facing away from him so he could massage my constricting muscles. "A light tale or gentle tune for the mother and child, then?"

With Nadir settled into a chair near the other side of the bed, Erik stretched out his long form next to me and began a story about a dog named Poi who wished desperately to become a butterfly . . .

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Two stories, one song and eight contractions later, I had the mother of all cramps. This one lasted for over a minute and at first, I thought I needed the chamber pot.

"Holy crap, that hurts," I cursed. Three minutes later, I had another one.

I consulted the clock. "This is _not_ supposed to happen for a while," I told Erik.

I did not want to alarm him, but fear began folding its tentacles around me. My Chicago friend, the one who I'd assisted with her Lamaze delivery, didn't hit this part of labor for hours. Was something wrong? Maybe my little guy was just impatient?

"Gabrielle, are you all right, dear?" Erik's face had turned white and disquiet colored his jade eyes a deep gray. "Why, you're shaking," he observed.

"I'm actually cold. Hand me that afghan on the bedpost, please?" I asked.

Nadir leapt to his feet, retrieved the covering and handed it to Erik, who draped it over me shoulders.

"Better, darling?" he asked.

"Um, somewhat. I still feel as if I have to use the bathroom, but I—oof," I groaned, digging my nails into the palms of my hands from the pain. "Damn, that's intense!" "Two minutes, forty seconds." To my astonishment, Nadir had taken on the task of timing my contractions.

"I think I'm scared, Erik, but I shouldn't be, this is a normal, natural occurrence and nothing is wrong, right?" I said more to myself than to my husband.

"Gabrielle, you must calm down. Here, darling, sit. Now, let's engage those breathing techniques you showed me."

"Okay—yes," I agreed, knowing the breathing exercises would help. I was amazed at how quickly my normally focused brain became mush when faced with birthing a baby.

I inhaled and exhaled slow, rhythmic breaths, struggling to continue through the next contraction. I feared this baby was not in the mood to wait much longer.

Erik worked swiftly, opening every drape in the room for visibility, moved his instrument laden table and two of the new electric lamps near the end of the bed.

"Erik, it hurts so damn bad," I whimpered when the next contraction stole my breath.

"My poor darling" He rushed to my side and placed a cool cloth across my forehead."

"The pressure is intense and I want to push so _badly_. Oh my god, I think I'm wet down there," I blurted out. Bile rose in my throat. "Where's the bed pan? I think I'm gonna yarf." I clamped my hand over my mouth and breathed deeper.

"Do you need to do so?" he asked, reaching beneath the bed for the porcelain container.

"No, not really, just an urge. It should pass. I'd like a sip of water, though."

"Nadir, a cup of cool water, and soak several towels in the hot water, wring them out and bring them to me," Erik directed. Nadir carried them over, averting his gaze when Erik lifted my gown to lay the towels on my abdomen and check on additional matters.

"Erik, why is this happening so fast?" I searched his eyes for an answer, which I knew I wouldn't find. Erik was many things, but he wasn't a genie who could pull answers from the air.

"I can only speculate that he wants to make an early entrance." Erik smiled down at me, his affectionate regard for my well being evident in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. He kissed my forehead and then my belly softly, before checking on the happenings between my thighs.

"Continue your breathing, darling, you are doing a splendid job. Gabrielle, there is a bit of blood and fluid here, not much; it is purported to be normal, dear; do not worry a whit, I am here."

Erik's words and actions had a comforting effect on me. Even with the contractions coming fast and furious in their intensity, I took hold of myself and went with my body's natural flow.

**- ( ) -**

_**Oh how wicked of me to stop here (put away the Punjab). But I must, and I won't make you wait too long for part two . . . so please review.**_

_**-Leesa**_


	93. Ch 93Life

_**Thanks to Amy and Barb for the beta work. . . great suggestions ladies! Here it is, the chappie you've all been waiting for,**_

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**Ch 93 Life**

The next two hours passed in a haze of contractions. The baby was on his way and all I wanted was to be finished.

_What a wussy you are, Gabrielle. Victorian women give birth as regularly as you used to take vacations_, I scolded myself.

But then, those women didn't expect ultrasounds, epidurals, nursing coaches and specialized neonatal care.

I looked over at the bedside clock—it read 6:15pm.

At least I had my husband,who was as brilliant and intuitive as any doctor was. Providing there were no extreme complications, delivery should be a fairly uneventful.

I turned my attention back to Erik, who lay beside me on our bed, and caught him staring at me.

Strips of sunlight streamed in between the gauzy window panels sparking a kaleidoscope of earthy jewel tones in his eyes.

"I love you," I said.

"And I, love you," he replied, meeting my lips with his and kissing me gently. I drank deeply of his affection, thankful for the pleasant diversion.

"Um, you certainly are yummy."

"Hold onto that sentiment for later," he answered, tracing my lips with his forefinger.

"Incidentally—how long must we abstain, darling?"

"I wondered when I would hear that question," I said, laughing. He frowned.

"Well, I did not want to appear beastly by broaching the subject too soon."

"Six weeks. Can you stand it, big guy?"

"If you can, my little vixen," Erik said with a wry smirk.

"Me? You're the man with the perpetual wood," I teased.

"But I'm sure we'll manage, and I'll bet you and I will be up to our ear lobes in 'baby this' and 'baby that' for a while. We'll have to grab a tryst whenever we can."

"We've years to make love; that is, if you still desire to do so after what my ardor has wrought upon you."

"The pleasure is more than worth the pain," I reassured my passionate, yet naive husband.

"Mamma Mia!" I jumped, squeezed my eyes against the pain of another contraction and panted like a St. Bernard, chanting "it hurts it hurts it hurts . . ."

"My poor darling, what can I do for you?" Erik asked, his eyes skittered over my body and a momentary wave of helplessness engulfed him."

"On second thought, never again touch me in that way," I moaned.

"I beg your pardon? But you—"

My moan turned to laughter when I saw his dispirited expression. "Only kidding, dear."

I lay my hand on his mask. "Erik, you promised you'd remove this for the delivery.

"I did, and I shall. Due to Mademoiselle Caruso's skittish nature, I choose to wear it whenever she is about," he said, carefully prying the bit of leather from his face to reveal his deformity to the tepid air.

Erik would never be comfortable exposing his naked flesh to the world, but he shouldn't have to hide within his own home. I'd determined that those who chose to visit DuPuis Manor would have to deal with Erik's deformity or leave.

"There's my husband. I want you to greet our child as yourself, not the Phantom," I cooed, stroking his cheek. He closed his eyes, smiled and pressed his face into my hand, relishing the affection.

"—Merde!" I yelped. No sooner had I withdrawn my hand from his cheek than another contraction clenched at my insides.

"Breathe, Gabrielle, that's my girl, breathe through the pain exactly as we practiced," Erik encouraged, remembering the birthing techniques I'd shown him, learned from coaching my single friend back in Chicago. When I'd told Erik the Lamaze method had been, (or would be) discovered by a Frenchman, he shrugged and gave me a cocky "But of course."

"Erik—oh, god, the pressure—it feels like the baby is coming now!" Moans punctuated my short, breathing. Erik resumed his position between my outstretched legs and reached for the hand sanitizer.

"I ought to use that, too," I gasped, indicating the bottle.

"An excellent idea—before we forget," he replied, stretching over my body to squirt a dollop of the gel into my hands, repeating the action for himself, placing the bottle back on the makeshift supply table and rubbing the sanitizer over his graceful hands.

When Erik focused his attention back on the event between my legs, his features became animated. "The baby is indeed in your birth canal, Gabrielle," he announced.

"Oh no! He's coming now—? Well, not 'oh no', I meant to say 'oh good'!"

_Not the time for a panic party, panic Gab, _I reprimanded myself mentally

"You are doing fine, my sweet. Keep up the quick breathing and push," Erik instructed.

"It's all I want to do!" I cried, bearing down. Even though the pain was off the charts, the importance of my duty urged me forward.

"Again, Gabrielle."

I clutched the sheet in my fists and bore down.

"Push harder!" Erik commanded.

"I am!" I whimpered irritably.

Through the buzzing in my head, I heard the bedroom door open.

"Bakhshid!" exclaimed Nadir in startled Farsi.

"Allow me to deliver this steaming water, then I shall take my leave—" he began.

"No, you will not, Nadir. Gabrielle is in parturition and I require your assistance. Put the stock pot down and prepare more hot compresses. When you have finished, bring them here, please," Erik said sharply, he had no times for decorous formalities.

Although a proper Persian male, Nadir had also been a police chief in a country not yet ruled by violent misogynistic religious extremists. Certainly, the man must have responded to a birth emergency or two without fearing the loss of his eyes for looking at the private parts of a woman who was not his wife.

Following Erik's directive, he prepared another thick warm compress and carried it to the bed.

"Exchange it for the one cooling on her abdomen."

Without hesitation, or a look at my feminine parts, Nadir obliged.

The warmth provided me with a little relief.

"Thank you, Nadir," I whispered, eking out a smile.

"I am your servant, Madame," he bowed, gathered up the cold used sheets and retreated to the laundry hamper at the other side of the room. Erik resumed coaching me with gentle firmness, his eyes trained on my crotch.

"Mon dieu!" Erik exclaimed. "The child's head is visible, Gabrielle."

"Ooh, let me feel!" I said, sliding my hand to my crotch where I felt the sticky, warm, scalp of the being my body struggled to purge.

"Wow, that's really our baby?"

"Indeed," Erik replied breathlessly, sharing my reaction to this miracle of life.

"Do press on, dear. The babe does not appear to be advancing."

I panted and pushed, grunted and, puffed until I sweat so much it stung my eyes.

"You simply must push harder, Gabrielle!" My husband's unyielding jussive conveyed to me the urgency of my compliance.

I stared at the upper most point of the bed canopy where the silk gathered into a lapis blue rosette, and continued to strain and grunt until I thought I might pull an "Elvis" and blow an artery.

"Give me your all, Gabrielle, stay strong, my love, you are nearly done."

Erik's resolve stirred me to press on. With all the fortitude I could muster, I exerted vigorous downward pressure.

He stole a glance at me, quickly looking back. In spite of his impassive demeanor, I saw worry cloud his jade eyes.

My pulse quickened—not a favorable reaction should my blood pressure rise. "What's wrong?"

Erik hesitated before replying. "The baby's head has crowned, but I fear he's is reluctant to come forth. You simply _must_ bear down harder, Gabrielle."

A nasty little panic bug crawled down my spine.

"No, Erik, no—_hell _no! I do not want a c-section," I shouted.

"Hush now, darling—the time for drastic measures has yet to come. Breathe along with me as you push," he said, calming me with his voice, inhaling and puffing out air in an attempt to relax and encourage me.

"Uhnn," I grunted.

"Do not stop!"

Erik had elevated my bottom with a few old pillows covered with sterile linens. I pushed up with my arms, raising off of the bed with a grunt, taxing my body beyond its personal parameters and issued one last Herculean push, accompanied by a cry worthy of a doshu.

I'd be damned if I'd have a caesarian birth.

Completely engrossed in his duty, Erik's face bore a mixture of anticipation and fierce concentration as he worked methodically between my legs. Suddenly, his eyes widened in astonished wonder and relief conquered his serious demeanor.

"Cease pushing, darling, the child's head is free and—sacrebleu! The little one's nearly shot through my hands." Erik grinned from ear to ear.

"Why, he is a boy, yes, yes, just as you predicted, Gabrielle. And he is unblemished, perfect—look!" Erik held up the squishy, vernix-covered newborn for me to view.

"Oh, look at him will you? He's gorgeous; hi little guy!" I said, my voice sweetened with newfound motherhood.

"Nuage d'Or, now I am certain God exists," Erik whispered with awe, cradling the messy wiggling infant in his arms with no regard for his white linen shirt.

"Praise Allah, a new life, a son," I heard Nadir's softly accented voice.

He moved a few steps nearer to the bed, his eyes glued to our babe.

"Nadir, on the table there are two small lengths of silken cord. Hand one to me, will you?" Erik instructed.

Ever vigilant about the infiltration of germs, I snapped to attention. "Erik—his hands!"

"Yes, of course! First you must use a drop of that gel on your hands—the bottle there on the table." Erik indicated the sanitizer with his chin. Nadir picked up the odd shaped container and fumbled with the pump before extracting a good blob of it into his hands.

"Rub it about and it will rid your hands of germs," said Erik.

The Persian obliged, slathering his hands with the alcohol and gel solution. He located the piece of dark red silk and plucked it up. Erik took the silk from Nadir, holding it in one hand, lifting the infant's umbilical cord with his other.

"Now," he said, "take the other piece and tie it snugly about the umbilical."

"I fear I am not suited—" Nadir blanched.

Erik sighed, "Monsieur Khan, I have only two hands—if you please."

I watched, amused as the Persian nervously looped the silk around the baby's cord twice, pulled it tight and tied two good knots in it.

"Now, secure the other silk, if you please, closer to the boy's body."

Nadir complied, standing back after he finished his important task and watched us.

"Would you care to sever it, my dear?" Erik asked.

"Me? Yes! " I replied, excitedly.

He handed over a pair of sharp scissors and held the cord near so I would not have to bend far. One good snip and the babe was no longer connected to my body.

Silently, reverently Erik carried his son to the wash basin to tidy him up. The child must have sensed the person who held him was his father, because he began to coo softly.

I relaxed into the wall of pillows behind my back and watched the tender sight. Light cramping claimed me and I guessed it was the placenta preparing to exit my body.

_How weird_, I thought.

What had taken over nine months to bring forth was over in a matter of hours. Gone was my low-slung beachball of a belly; I was extremely sore and tired, but relieved that the relentless pain and pressure was over. I'd made it, the baby had made it, even Erik and Nadir had made it. Phew.

If history served my memory correctly, I would only have to endure labor one more time. Of course, one never knew about the tide of the future.

Erik extracted mucus from the infant's mouth and nose with the bulb, then placed him in a small basin of tepid, sterile water and gently wiped away the white vernix and blood from his tiny body. A wobbly cry grew into a full on wail—our little Erik did not approve of baths.

"He certainly has good lungs; an opera singer, perhaps?" I laughed to my husband.

"Heaven forfend," Erik replied, swaddling our son in a clean cotton baby blanket and placing him on a produce scale.

"Our little Erik weighs three point six hundred and thirty-four kilograms and is fifty-three point thirty-four centimeters long or eight pounds and one sixteenth ounces and twenty-one inches in illogical American measurements," announced Erik.

"All in all, a healthy lad." He beamed and carried the squirming bundle back to me.

"Madman DuPuis, would you care to hold your child?" Erik asked.

Beneath a swirl of black fuzz sat a tiny red face: slits for eyes, a heart shaped chin, and like his papa, a generous mouth, already chapped from the harshness of the air. I received him greedily. Here he was, the little guy who'd holed up in my body for nine months, in the flesh at last, breathing evenly and working his mouth vigorously.

"Hello, little Erik, welcome to the world. I am your mère, and this is your père and we love you very much," I said, as joyous tears trickled from the corners of my eyes. "Isn't he fabulous?" I whispered, switching my gaze from baby to father. Erik eased onto the bed and sat next to me.

"He is a miracle the likes of which I have never imagined in my most obscure fantasy. I am in awe of you both," he said, kissing my brow lovingly.

"Thank you, Gabrielle."

"You are welcome," I whispered back.

Nadir excused himself, making a swift exit to check on the meddling Madame Caruso.

"What's going on with Caruso?" I asked suddenly remembering the pre-birth drama.

"I put her under for a while. Soon the power of hypnosis will erase her recent memory. She'll believe she has been ill for the whole of this day when she emerges.Perhaps I will glean important information from her as well," Erik said confidently, watching the babe and brushing his fingers over the downy head as though he touched a porcelain figurine.

"It's fortunate for her I went into labor, or else she might be in as many pieces as my broken laptop," I proclaimed with a trifling laugh. At the moment, mourning my computer seemed irrelevant.

Remembering that newborns often wanted to nurse immediately and of the benefits to both mother and child, I slipped down the shoulder of my gown and placed his small lips close to my breast. After a good bit of rooting around, he finally latched onto me and began suckling—hard. I was amazed to learn how much pressure a newborn's tiny mouth could exert.

Erik watched, mesmerized by the procedure.

"Is he receiving anything yet?" he inquired.

"I think so. If he doesn't, I'm sure he'll tell us so," I said, wincing.

"Does it hurt, darling?"

"Not too badly. I suppose I'll grow accustomed to having a Hoover, that's an electric vacuum for cleaning rugs, hooked up to my second most delicate body part." I pulled gently at the babe's head. Indeed, the evidence showed he was receiving his first meal, which pleased me. I'd only been a parent for a few minutes and already there was too much to worry about.

The need for more pushing overcame me, and I dispensed with the final stage of labor, the placenta. Erik rose to assist me, should I need it. Standing bed the bed, he regardedhis wife and child. Tears shimmered in his eyes.

"Magnifique, mon aimé," he murmured sweetly, his words caressing me.

I smiled up at my husband and blew a kiss at him. Once thebirthing was complete, he carried away the soiled towels and sheets, returning with fresh padding, warm water and a cloth. With gentle regard, my husband cleansed me as I nursed our child.

From beyond the windows, there was a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning—the birth of a summer rain storm.

-()-

_**If I don't receive a review from each and every one of you readers and lurkers, I shall cry, or sic Monsieur DuPuis on you. Seriously, please drop me one. I worked on this chapter long and hard; how did I do? **_

_**Your obedient servant,**_

_**-Leesa **_

_Bakhshid: Forgive me__, Doshu: Grand master (martial arts), Nuage d'Or: Cloud of God (or golden cloud)._


	94. Ch 94 La joie d'Erik

**_Author's note: I'm pleased most of you liked the baby chapter. Some questioned certain aspects, which is perfectly allright. Babies do not always cry the second they are born, some take a few minutes, cooing instead, some must be incited to make noise. Also, some babies do breast feed immediately after birth (my sister's twin boys did). Everyone has different experiences and Gabrielle's come from a combination of stories. That being said, thank you for the feedback, there are more readers lurking out there than I thought. It's good to hear from you!_**

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**Ch 94 La joie d'Erik**

There are places along life's highway where one pauses to dwell from time to time. Willowy oases so amazing you wish you could capture them like lightening bugs, slip them into a jar and watch them glitter forever.

This was one of my oases.

The scent of jasmine slipped through the open windows on the wings of a rain-soaked breeze. All around the manor house lightening flashed and thunder followed, leaving the day darker than dusk inside our bedchamber.

Candle flames flickered and threatened to go out as our scant, fragile electric lights already had.

Erik cradled me in his arms as I cradled his new heir in mine. Neither of us spoke, preferring instead to fill our senses with Mother Nature's will.

"Gabrielle, I should go and deal with Mademoiselle Caruso." Erik's sultry voice interrupted our serenity.

"Go, now, and leave us?" I questioned, not yet prepared to release my husband.

"Ma chérie, it pains me to do so, but I'll be quick in my deed and return soon." He put his fingers beneath my chin, tilting it up to read my face. "You might even catch a few winks."

"I could use a nap, and a bite to eat, and definitely a shower. I smell like an alpaca," I said, sniffing at my underarms.

Erik rolled his eyes at me. "I've had the displeasure of being in close quarters with the creatures; you, my dear, smell nothing like an alpaca."

"A monkey?"

"Perhaps," he smiled. There was pleasure in his eyes.

"I shall send Nadir to the kitchen for something to eat if you like. Now, a kiss please, wife," he bent down to meet my lips, stroked the infant's head and made his exit swiftly, leaving me alone with my new baby and my thoughts.

I'd seldom witnessed Erik's persuasive powers, and I wondered if it were possible to lead a person so far under hypnotic suggestion, they could remain zombified indefinitely. The idea made me shudder.

Mademoiselle Caruso, who could she be and what had she been doing in Erik's music room? The girl didn't strike me as musically inclined. Was she a spy or looking for valuables? Whatever the motive, I hoped Erik could convince her that I wasn't a witch.

People always amazed me at how they jumped to erroneous conclusions when faced with information that conflicts with commonplace understanding.

Little Erik's head bobbled away from my breast, a sign that dinner was done, for a time. I steadied his fragile head with my free hand and drank in the sight of my new son. His father was the only other man who held the power to captivate me so. _Erik and I created this beautiful, living miracle_, I marveled. I'd heard other mothers speak of how enamored they were of their newborn children, of the inexplicable wonder and joy, but I never quite grasped the sentiment until now.

And to think, two years ago, I was an independent modern day career woman with no thoughts of motherhood, in fact, I cringed at the thought of giving up my "freedom" for the undertaking. Then the heavens threw me into a vortex of change and here I am, in a new life and amazingly enough, I am at ease in my role as wife and mother.

I laughed at myself, placed a clean cloth over my right shoulder and leaned the babe against my body, patting gently on his back until he burped.

"There's a good boy!" I said, happy with the small victory. He shaped his rosy mouth into a miniature pout and drifted off to dreamland. I soon joined him.

**OOOOOooooOOOO**

A knock at the door jolted me from my catnap.

"Madame, it is Nadir. I have a tray for you; may I enter?"

"Huh? For a short moment, I forgot why I was so tired, then reality emerged and I remembered I'd just had a baby, the one sleeping in my arms.

"Sure, you may enter, Nadir," I called to him, covering up my exposed breast and pulling the blankets so as not to further fluster the gentile Persian.

He entered with a tray heaped full of fruits, cheeses, pastries and tea, made his way to the bed and placed it beside me on the table.

"Wow, I didn't know such perks came with motherhood. I've got the former Daroga of Mazanderan waiting on me," I laughed softly.

"Anything for the woman who delivered Erik from his darkness," he answered.

"I can't take credit for choices he made on his own, Nadir. Good has always been a part of Erik's psychological and spiritual make-up, but no one, save you and Madame Giry, have bothered to look beyond his face to find the hidden gold in his heart. That is all I have done."

"Perhaps, but it is different with you, Gabrielle. He respects you, listens to you; trusts you—a tall order for a man like Erik. Previously, the only person afforded those courtesies was his own self. I dare say you possess a secret weapon, don't you?"

"Ha! My secret weapons are patience, experience and—well, let's just say the ability to respond positively to Erik's baser appetites," I said, smiling faintly and thinking of my virile husband. It still pained me to think of Erik wasting all those years as a solitary being—no one touching him, loving him; of Christine who, innocently or not, ignited the passions he fought so hard to contain, then rebuffed his advances when his face did not match her fantasy.

Small wonder Erik had a voracious sexual appetite.

"Whatever characteristic you possess, your unprecedented appearance in his life has urged him to be a better man.

"He's the man he was meant to be, Nadir."

"Yes," he nodded and focused his gaze on the sleeping babe in my arms, his eyes twinkled with delight.

"Isn't he a wonder, Nadir? Would you care to hold him?"

He looked surprised. "May I?"

"Of course, I trust you implicitly. Here," I said, holding little Erik out to him.

Nadir collected my son, and held him like a pro. Erik had made me aware of the man's misfortunes, first losing his wife, and later on his young son. He'd never had the parental opportunity to watch his boy grow up, marry and sire grandchildren for him to hold in the same manner that he now held my child. I grieved for Nadir's losses.

"Beautiful, he is. And no blemishes I take it?" he nearly whispered the question.

I knew "blemishes" was a polite word for deformities. It was the white elephant in the room, no one mentioned it but we all thought about it, especially Erik. His look of jubilant relief the very moment our son popped into the world will forever be imprinted on my mind.

"None—not that it would matter to me," I assured Nadir.

"It was not my intention to suggest you would care about such things. Please forgive me if I have offended you, Gabrielle." Nadir looked horrified that he'd made a terrible faux pas.

"No offense taken. I know you're protective of Erik and I'm glad for it."

"Yes, he has told me as much." The Persian smiled an odd little smile. Erik must have disclosed to his friend the tale of my protective outburst in the streets of London last year.

"A spirited and righteous woman is a good thing for our Erik," he said. I considered it praise.

I stuck a piece of cheese on an apple slice and munched it greedily while Nadir poured a cup of tea. I hadn't realized how ravenous I'd become.

"Tell me, what's going on with the Caruso girl? Has Erik hypnotized her yet?" I asked.

"When Erik entered the room, she was stirring but very disoriented—Erik claims that is the perfect state for subconscious suggestion. I sat in the corner like a quiet mouse and watched. First, he sang a soothing tune to her, the words I did not recognize, a 'language of tongues' Erik calls it. Once her eyes opened, it was evident the she wan not truly awake, but in a sort of dream state. He asked her name and if she felt well, then he began making suggestions."

"Suggestions, like what kind?"

"Let me think—he told her to relax, that she was safe and no harm would come to her and that she could trust him. The girl succumbed easily to his authority, a consequence of youth, I suppose."

Little Erik woke, thrashing his fists about whining and working his mouth in search of more food.

"What do you desire, little prince?" Nadir asked the child softly.

"Food, I think. Babies eat often since their bellies are so tiny. Here, I'll take him," I held out my arms, retrieving my son. "Are you hungry my sweet baby?" I cooed, and shielded my body with a blanket, withdrew my breast from beneath the covering and positioned the babe at my nipple, which he latched onto like the male that he was. Nadir saw none of this, and continued his recollection.

"I believe Erik did ask if she had been sent here to do us harm and if so, who had sent her."

"And?"

"She gave an empathetic 'no.' She was here because of a connection at the Lyric Opera house. A dancer had heard from a friend who once danced with the company that her mother's acquaintance, Monsieur DuPuis, was in need of a maid. That is how Madame Caruso came to work at DuPuis Manor."

"Must have been Madame Giry. Erik isn't chummy with anyone else who still bothers with the opera. Nothing suspect in that," I said. "Was she still insisting I am a witch?"

"Erik questioned her about the accusation, to which she replied, 'Madame is odd in her manner and her dress, she is far too open—most mysterious and she frightens me.' She cited her discovery of your 'magic window' as proof that you were some sort of supernatural entity."

"Sheesh, if you don't know what it is, then it must be bad. What a narrow-minded way to live." I shook my head, knowing it was this sort of thing that had made Erik's life a living hell.

"When Erik wanted to know what she thought he could be, she answered 'a warlock or wizard,' Nadir replied.

Amused, I snorted. "At least she didn't say 'demon.' While he does have certain magical powers, he's certainly not a warlock; if he were, I'd have been back in my own century two years ago."

Deftly, I reached for my tea cup and took a lengthy sip. The warmth had a relaxing effect on my overtaxed system. I drained the cup and held it out for Nadir to pour another.

"Erik wanted to know if she thought we had mistreated her. 'Not in the least,' she said. 'You and your wife are generous and have treated me with polite civility.' When asked why she was snooping about, the girl said in her home, they owned few beautiful possessions, save for her father's violin. He played it for the family every evening after supper and her mother would sing. He was very proud of the instrument—a gift from a man who once used his blacksmith services."

"Okey dokey, that doesn't explain rooting around in your employers possessions," I said frowning at the thought of her destroying my main connection to my "future past".

Nadir bobbed his head in agreement. "When her mother fell ill and died, the family's finances decreased considerably without her mother's salary from the opera, she was a singer you know--father was forced to sell his precious violin. Going into the music room, which she knew was forbidden, brought her closer to good memories, so she claimed."

My eyes widened. "Really? Poor kid, what did Erik do next?"

"He assured her that no one in the manor was of a supernatural nature and she was safe here as long as she was prudent and abided by his rules. She should fear no one. At this point Erik came to me and whispered that he was going to take her back a few days before the incident, tell her that nausea was the reason she felt poorly and had taken to her bed. But before he could administer the suggestion, I would have to leave; or else I too may fall under hypnotic suggestion. Erik also requested I find something for you to eat and drink. Naturally I complied with his wishes."

"Naturally," I smiled.

Nadir shrugged, "I've know Erik for decades. I have seen him manipulate others without my falling prey. I doubt I would now, but you, dear lady, required my services, so I left him with Mademoiselle Caruso."

"So that's all there is to it . . . the girl will return to normal and forget about her afternoon escapades?"

"That is the usual outcome. Erik did forbid entrance to the music room or your bedchamber unless Madame Roux accompanies her. And she is _never_ to snoop through anyone's possessions lest she lose her job, or worse."

"He actually said 'or worse'? Geez, he can't help adding a dash of drama to the stew, can he," I snorted.

"Indeed, he cannot, Madame."

I reached out with my free hand and touched Nadir lightly on the arm. "Thank you for not giving up on Erik and for your help, all of it. I owe you one, Nadir."

"Owe me one what, Madame?" he asked, cocking his head slightly.

I giggled. "That's an expression—slang. It means I owe you one favor back."

"I see. Serving you is a pleasure, you owe me nothing."

"How about coming by for supper when I'm back in full working order? I'll make amaretto crème brulee," I offered, knowing he could not resist my cooking.

"A splendid suggestion, of which I shall take you up on."

A soft knocking at the door interrupted our conversation.

"Yes?" I called, curious as to who would bother knocking. At present, only five people occupied the manor.

"It is Marie. May I enter?" Her voice carried through the door's dense wooden panels.

"When did she become as stealthy as Erik?" I whispered to Nadir.

"The storm must have cloaked the sound of their arrival," he explained. I mouthed back an "ah yes" and bade Marie to enter.

She still wore her dark brown traveling suit; her tight gray coiffure sparkled with droplets of rain and when she caught sight of Nadir, she started. "Why, Monsieur Khan, highly irregular to see you . . . here. Where is Monsieur DuPuis?" She glanced around the room as though expecting Erik to emerge from the shadows.

"He'll be back shortly. Nadir brought me something to eat. You know how hungry birthing a child can make a woman," I said wearing a "cat that ate the canary" smile.

"Birthing? Do you mean the child has come early? One never can predict the exact time of these things, but . . . poor dear, alone with only your husband to assist you." Marie rushed to my bedside practically knocking Nadir to the floor.

"You look positively peaked, dear. Where is the infant?

I retrieved the sleeping babe from beneath the blanket and presented him proudly to the older woman.

"Oh, such a dear little thing! Infants, they are so small, so defenseless," Marie exclaimed, standing next to the bed and peering down at the sleeping Erik in my arms.

"He's beautiful isn't he, Marie?"

"Precious indeed, Gabrielle. What have you named him?"

"Erik Thomassen DuPuis," I replied.

"The name of kings; most fitting if he is strong-willed like his parents. Has he fed?"

"Twice, came out of the womb chomping his gums."

"Some do."

Marie hesitated as if wanting to say more and glanced apprehensively at Nadir.

_So she wants to "girl-talk"_ I thought.

Nadir cleared his throat. "Gabrielle, is there is anything else you require?"

"No thank you, Nadir. If there is, Marie can get it for me."

"Then I shall take my leave and assist Erik with his project." He bowed and exited.

I turned my focus to Marie. "I do wish you'd been here, but it was an easy birth, as far as such things go. And Erik was so calm and methodical. You would have approved, Marie," I said in earnest, hoping to curtail any disapproval.

Her lips stretched into a thin, grim line as she observed me solemnly.

_Uh, oh_, I thought, _here come the morality police_.

A funny thing happened instead. Marie's eyes softened, lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes and mouth and she reached out to stroke my arm. Tears teetered on the rim of her eyes.

"Gabrielle, I am pleased that he was by your side. Erik is as dedicated a husband as I have ever known. As unorthodox as your practices may be, your collaborations bring forth a favorable outcome; for that alone, I must hold you both in high regard."

I blinked. "Why, Marie, thank you. Erik and I, you know, we survived childhoods that required we find alternative means of accomplishing goals. That's the truth behind our modus operandi."

"My Henri tells me that if one does not change, one can rot rather than grow, and to change, one must engage the mind's eye—try new ideas. He has a propensity for viewing life from different angles, where I am more, shall we say, _particular_?"

"Marie, you had a home and children to manage, keeping order was a necessity," I said, attempting to giver her ego a boost. I had the impression Henri may gave encouraged his wife to do some thinking on the issue of "the fairly odd DuPuis family".

Little Erik awoke, screwed up his face and yawned.

"My, would you look at him, he is beautiful; some babies take months before becoming handsome," Marie murmured fondly over the newborn.

"Knee caps with hair—that's what a good many of them resemble," I laughed. "Marie, I know you want to hold him; here, hold out your palms and rub some of this liquid on them," I requested, lifting the sanitizer from the bedside table where Erik had moved it and pumping a measure into her hands. "It's something new I brought over from America, it cleans your hands instantly."

Marie cast the gel an uncertain look and rubbed her palms together vigorously.

"Here you go," I said, placing the newborn in her experienced hands.

Having been taken from the familiarity of his mother's body, Erik cried, but Marie cradled him in her arms, gently swaying and cooing at him. In an instant, he quieted and nodded off to sleep once more.

"He appears healthy; he will need a diaper, Gabrielle, else this swaddling blanket will become a causality all too soon," she warned.

"Good idea. There are some beneath that table—second shelf. Bring me one if you don't mind and I'll take care of it." I indicated Erik's supply table by the foot of the bed. She walked with easy steps to the table, found the cotton squares and pins and changed him there on the table top for me."

"Here you are, mother, clean and fresh . . . for the moment anyway," Marie said, depositing the babe back into my arms.

"Madame Roux, you've returned to us. And I see you have met my son."

Marie flinched. My husband had slipped into the bedroom and now stood at her left elbow.

"Congratulations, Monsieur, your child is beautiful," Marie said, as she admired our son.

"Merci, Madame Roux. He is my joy."

"I regret that I was not present to aid you both."

"The birth was rater uneventful, really, I supervised and Gabrielle delivered," Erik addressed Marie with a blitheful air and then fixed his sight on his new family, looking down on us with an expression of adoration and pride.

It was the first time I'd know him not to wear his mask in Marie's presence.

- () -

_**Review for me if you would . . . Please!**_

_**-Your begging authoress, Leesa**_

_The next chapter will deal with Mlle. Caruso and tie up some lose ends, eventually wrapping up with a wedding ceremony._


	95. Ch 95 A Mother's Thoughts

_**Thanks to my reviewers. If you read, please review for me.**__**A big thanks goes out to Amy for proofing this chapter.**_

_**- Leeesainthesky**_

**Ch 95 A Mother's Thoughts**

"Whatever has become of Mademoiselle Caruso? I've seen hide nor hair of her since our arrival. Tell me the girl did not flee from Gabrielle's bedside at the first hint of blood." asked Marie, frowning.

"No, she's ill, but I fear it is a virus. Shortly after breakfast she broke into a sweat and ran to the water closet. I ordered immediate bed rest as a precaution, lest she infect Gabrielle with her miserable germs," Erik answered, convincing Marie.

"A wise decision, Monsieur. A newborn's fragile nature makes them an easy mark for the smallest of illnesses," Marie Roux agreed as she held and rocked young Erik, cooing at him as though he were her own grandson. "Perhaps I should look in on her. Erik shook his head.

"You needn't bother, Madame. I checked on her less than one hour ago. There was no fever and the elixir I administered worked wonders for her ailment."

Marie turned her attention back to our son. "He's a handsome boy, indeed. Be certain you feed him as often as he likes, Gabrielle. An infant deprived of sustenance will not grow properly," she said, imparting her motherly wisdom to me.

"Absolutely, Marie," I nodded, and as if on cue, he began the "wha-wha" whine that that I soon learned meant "feed me!"Marie handed him back to me.

"I must inform Henri of the wonderful news!" She smiled and swept from the bedchamber, thrilled as any natural grandparent.

Erik observed the retreating Marie quizzically.

"I think we've been adopted by Madame Roux," I laughed. "She works my nerves with her high-handed morality, but the old woman has a generous heart—she's far better to me than my own mother was. I like to think of the Roux's as my new family."

Erik gave me a sideways glance and scowled. "Why, you have us, Gabrielle. Are we not sufficient?"

"Of course you are dear," I soothed. "I miss my father, Erik. He would have been tickled pink to know his grandchild."

Tears pricked my eyes as I gazed at the newborn in my arm. I imagined my father holding him, playing with him as he grew into a boy and introducing him to the wonderful world of science.

Erik walked to the far side of the bed and took the empty space next to me. "Please, Cheri, do not cry," he said looping his arm around my shoulders and kissing my damp cheek. I lay my head against him, sighed and closed my eyes against the tears.

"I am happy, truly I am. Please don't misinterpret my tears, sweetheart." I knew Erik had a jealous predilection toward anyone or anything which might rob him of my affections, even a simple, fond memory. He hugged me tighter and fingered the folds of our son's blanket, revealing more of the tiny infant within.

"You did well, my love. Our child is the most beautiful sight I have ever beheld, so perfect and whole. Nothing like me, thank God."

I bit him on the arm lightly. "Stop, you! A handsome visage is a poor measure of a man's authentic self. I cannot argue that our son is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen, and in my eyes, the sight of his father captivates me equally," I reassured him with a tender nuzzle to his neck.

"I noticed you weren't wearing your mask when Marie was in the room," I added.

Erik touched his face subconsciously. "Strangely enough, I thought of it little with the excitement of young Erik's birth. And you shall be pleased to learn that I've appraised what you've been telling me--about not having to hide within my own domicile. You, dear wife, are right."

"Bravo, Monsieur DuPuis, I am proud of you. And Marie, she didn't recoil with shock, not even a wince. See, Erik, those who love you, love you for who you are, not for who we think you should be." I said, kissing the faint tooth marks on his wrist. 

He smiled faintly at the marks and shook his head. "For an ugly man, I find that I am dreadfully vain about my appearance."

"I wouldn't call it vanity, Erik, old scars don't heal easily. You've become markedly less misanthropic since I've know you, less quick to judge or anger. Considering what you've endured in the past, I find these changes remarkable."

"My yes, how far the Phantom has come . . ." he retorted wryly.

I'd hoped he'd had success in dealing with Mademoiselle Caruso. "Why don't you fill me in on how you solved the problem of our curious little maid?" I asked.

"Mademoiselle Caruso is no longer a threat. Through hypnosis I discovered she misses her dead father, loves music and hasn't a vindictive bone in her young body. The girl is intelligent, but dreadfully shy. There are no dark secret plots behind her being here either."

"Another crisis averted, thank god. There was a moment when I thought Vincenzo might have sent her here to snoop."

"I too had entertained the thought, but apparently she has never met the man. She is to obey your instructions implicitly. Should she not comply, you must tell me at once."

"And then what," I narrowed my gaze at him.

"I will release her of her employment, what else would I do, Gabrielle?" he frowned.

"Just asking—Sheesh," I whispered under my breath.

"Poor love, you're terribly tired, aren't you darling. What may I do to assist you?"

"The baby should be okay for a bit as he's just fed, haven't you, my cutie-patootie," I smiled and brought him closer for a kiss on his tender forehead.

"What I want and need, Erik, is a shower. Would you mind watching him while I take one? I won't be but a few minutes. If he soils his diaper, it can wait until I return." I couldn't see Erik changing a dirty nappy.

"Dear wife, do you fear I can not care for my own son? Go; shower if you are certain you feel up to the task. We shall be fine," he said reaching out to relieve me of my warm bundle.

With some reluctance I delivered little Erik into the arms of big Erik and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The pressure of sitting upright on my bottom smarted, but I found I could stand with little problem. I was grateful that I hadn't torn during the delivery. Stitches without anesthetic would have sucked.

Cradling the babe safely in one long arm, Erik reached out with his other to steady me by my elbow. "Careful,darling—do you require my assistance with your shower? I imagine Madame Roux would look after Erik while you tend to your personal needs," Erik asked, concerned that I might not have the strength to stand for more than a few minutes.

After taking a few steps, I knew I could make it to the water closet shower. "I'm sore that's all. My feet work fine. A bonus of natural childbirth is that the mother and child recover more quickly. I'll be in the garden pulling weeds tomorrow," I said reassuringly.

"Pulling weeds, tomorrow? Perish the thought, Gabrielle!" Erik sounded horrified.

_Might as well take advantage of the Victorian attitudes of coddling the mother_, I thought. While Erik's help in the shower would be pleasant, I relished a moment to myself. "Check on me in a few to see if I need another bath sheet." I kissed his disfigured cheek and toddled away in search of the soothing properties of a warm shower.

Warm water from the large, flat, shower head rained down on my parched skin renewing my over-taxed muscles. I reveled in its cleansing, healing properties, tipping my head up to catch droplets on my face. I smiled thinking on how infrequent these moments of solitude would become.

Somewhat shaky from the birthing ordeal, I finished quickly, dried my thick, coppery brown hair, and donned my robe. Before exiting the water closet, I paused at the mirror and wiped a hole in the steam. There I encountered the reflection of a woman markedly different than the one from two years ago. This woman still retained her spirit, but had gained patience and wisdom, not to mention a husband and a baby.

_Hello lucky_, I addresesed myself with agrin and a whimsical shake of my head.I padded back down the corridore to our bedchamber and found Erik asleep on the bed with the youngster nestled securely in his arms.

Daylight had long retreated, taking with it the summer thunderstorm. Long shadows danced across the bedroom courtesy of a few windblown candle flames and the air smelled of ozone and fresh grass. I paused inside the door, capturing the precious sights, sounds and smells of this extraordinary day. I smiled at my long limbed, powerful husband and our delicate newborn son and thought of how tired they too must be.

I wondered . . .did Erik ever fathom a day when he would deliver his own offspring? Doubtful.

Yes, today our lived had changed forever.

**OOOooooOOOO**

**_Just some details from the first day with "Young Erik." As for whose wedding is coming up, if you haven't already quessed, you'll find out in the next chapter._**

_**-Leesa  
**_


	96. Ch 96 Fait Accompli

_I am thrilled to see new names in the reviews. Thank you for taking the time to voice your opinions (Miss Ann Thropy, indeed ) Also of note, iluvmyphantom created an astonishing rendering of 21st Gabriell. Check it out by going to her profile page, ID: 1048132 and scroll down to "Time the Avenger"Gabrielle. . . très cool._

_-Leesainthesky_

**Ch 96 Fait Accompli**

My first two week of motherhood passed with exhausting duplicity; a vacuum of endless feedings, changing, and stolen naps. Four days after giving birth, a letter arrived from Doctor Barrett detailing her plans to visit manor on July 3rd, less than three weeks after little Erik's birth on June 16th—exactly two years since my untimely drop into nineteenth-century France, an occurrence I considered not altogether a coincidence.

At over eight pounds, young Erik was not born prematurely; the good doctor merely overshot her prediction of my due date. I smiled thinking on the inaccuracy of late eighteen-hundred medicine. I knew dear Elizabeth would be mortified when she learned she'd missed the opportunity to make good on her oath to help deliver my child.

As a father and husband, Erik was doting and attentive, insisting on helping me with diaper changing and sponge baths. Marie would shake her head, throw her hands in the air and mumble about how we were raising a child who would not know the difference between the roles of men and women.

Erik rewarded her sniping with a glower and a gruff lecture on how it mattered not which parent tended a child as long as the child was tended to with loving care, a point Marie could not debate.

Husband and housekeeper also bumped heads on the matter of baptizing our son and I found myself intervening during one such conversation.

Erik and I were at the breakfast table, Mademoiselle Caruso was in the kitchen washing the breakfast dishes while Marie served us coffee.

"Monsieur DuPuis, I am sure you and you wife will agree that a priest must be called on to baptize young Erik post haste. Do not leave his dear little soul vulnerable to an eternity in hell," Marie advised, her jaw set in stern righteousness.

Erik had been quietly reading the paper as I sat nursing the baby beneath my "nursing serape", an idea borrowed from American Indians.

He crushed his paper noisily and glared at her, his impassive expression morphed into a hard, determined anger.  
"Madame Roux," Erik bellowed, "My child will certainly not go to hell because some sanctimonious Vatican appointed idiot has yet to dip Erik's tiny head into water. How absurd, really Madame. I rather doubt I would allow a stranger to bother my son in such a manner in the first place!"

"Monsieur, you cannot be serious. Without baptism in the name of the holy church, there is no salvation." Marie fingered the crucifix hanging from a chain around her neck and gaped at him as if she were going to faint from the very idea.

"Damn it all, Madame Roux, I do not accept your draconian apologia. I want no part of a God who damns little children to hell because they have not been properly processed by a man-made institution. And that is the end of it!" Little Erik began to wail.

"Now look what you've done," Marie scolded Erik for upsetting the baby.

"Me? It is you who insists on this idiotic superstition."

"Forgive my boldness, monsieur, but you may do well to partake of the baptism yourself."

Erik's eyes shot hot green sparks in Marie's direction.

I remained impassive, soothing my son cries by speaking softly and rocking him, hoping these two would tire of bickering and just drop the subject.

They didn't.

"Time out you two, you're upsetting the baby and that upsets me. I am this child's mother and I have a say in all this. First off, Madame Roux, it says nowhere in the bible that we get a free pass to hell if we aren't dunked, sprinkled, showered or dipped in holy water, in fact I think there's something in there about '_baptism not by water but by the holy spirit_.' Jesus was baptized by a wandering woodsman."

Marie crossed her arms over her chest in a show of defiance and glared past me and out the dining room window.

"It's like this; if Erik doesn't want a priest, there'll be no priest. Now, you." I turned my attention to my husband. "Grow up."

Erik's jaw twitched. He cast me a sharp look and opened his mouth to admonish me for my blunt criticism.

"No, Erik, listen to me. Angry voices are not good for your son. This child will be baptized because I want it, not because I am afraid of hell. My God doesn't send innocents there, period. The clergy we use to marry us in our spiritual ceremony can do it on the same day. Comprenez?" I said in a stern, clear voice looking both Marie and Erik in the eyes.

"Now if you'll excuse me, my son needs changing." I rose from the table, and retreated to the baby's room. I changed the babe's smelly diaper, disposed of the evidence and sat in the ornate oak rocking chair to nurse my sweet son. I was beyond tired from little sleep.

Erik and I had decided to go ahead with our original wedding celebration as the previous civil ceremony was but a brief, inelegant, legal procedure. Although I had a list of guest from our planned marriage last fall, new announcements needed addressing and sending, a new summer menu planned, and so forth. Would I be up to the speed of it all in four weeks? Who knew.

I closed my eyes and must have dozed off in the chair. When I awoke, I was in the bed I shared with Erik and the babe was asleep in his bassinet next to the bed. I yawned and rolled over on my left side to find myself looking into Erik's smokey jade eyes.

"Hello, my love," he said silkily, resting his hand on my hip. I surprised myself; in spite of the fatigue, I craved intimacy with my husband.

"Hi," I smiled back, shifting in the bed and twisting my gown, inadvertently exposing one plump breast.

Erik could not help himself. His eyes flicked down to gaze at my nakedness, he closed his eyes and released a long, pensive sigh.

"How long?"

"It has been eight days since our little son made his grand entrance--that makes five more weeks."

He pushed out his bottom lip. "I am consumed by my cupidity for you, wife."

"Oh geez," I giggled. "Don't pout, there are 'other' ways to entertain ourselves."

"Indeed, there are," he replied, brightening with a wicked smile. "I shall never, ever, forget that first time you taught me the many ways to indulge in erotic stimulation without breaching your, shall we say, virtue?"

"Nor will I. As I recall, you were a fast learner."

"I was beside myself with want for you, Madame. You see, being a man conditioned not to expect human affection, I numbed my mind to such hopes; however, living in the hedonistic colony of the Persian court and the backstage of a Parisian opera house, I indulged my curiosity often. Whenever, during my nocturnal wanderings, I came across a coupling, I invited myself to watch, to learn. It was the only way I would ever see what transpired between lovers. And oh, the things they did to one another! When you came to live at the manor, I fought the urge to fantasize about engaging in those acts with you."

"Did you now? My dark hero, a powerhouse of passion and energy, desperate for a desirable outlet to plug into. I was enchanted by you, Erik."

"And I, you, you delicious, wet, accommodating little temptress," he whispered low and sweet, inviting a pleasurable spark to ignite within me.

We lay in silence, our arms wound about each other and listened to young Erik's soft, measured breathing. "Think of it, Erik, July 29 marks six weeks and a day—a fitting date for a wedding ceremony and subsequent honeymoon night, wouldn't you agreee?" "Oui," he grinned, his amazingly straight, white teeth flashed from behind full, roguishly uneven lips. In an instant his countenance became serious.

"Gabrielle, do you understand that you are much more to me than a feminine vessel for my seeds? Our lovemaking, while sublime, is not the only measure of my love for you. It is how you intrigue my mind and your true regard for me as a man that binds me to you for eternity."

"Yes, Erik. I know," I said, propping up on one arm, resting my head in my hand, and wondering where he was going with this. I pursed my lips, weighing his words. "So if I weren't an obliging sex machine of a woman, you would still love me then?"

"Why, of course." He seemed wounded.

"You've never been one to turn down a good shag. But seriously, Erik, you're as principled and disciplined as you are passionate."

"Me, a principled man . . . an amusing thought to be sure," he sneered and fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt, turning them up to just below his elbows.

"Honestly, Erik, many men often bitch about how cold their wives are to them in the bedroom, yet they don't give a dribble about their wives's needs, seldom considering that a drunken poke is less than appealing to a woman who has spent her day cleaning house, fixing dinner and tending children. She receives few kind words for her obedience. You, you're not like that, a rare breed in any time period."

"I've long considered men who pester their wives relentlessly for sex, but give theme little regard for anything else to be boorish and crass. I do not wish to become that sort of man."

"Your sensitivity would never allow it, darling."

"You are too kind, my sweet," he said touching my face gently. "Before you left for England, I often treated you with indifference, even though I claimed to love you. Oh Gabrielle, I know so little of how a man ought to act. I forget that, as you say, 'it isn't all about me'. Can you forgive me?"

"Already have. You're an artist, Erik, and as an artist, I realize you're deeply involved with your creative process. When you are, I expect your craft to hold you for a time, but you always come back to center. I'm not the sort of woman who would spend days holed up in her room feeling ignored. I have my writing and it takes up lots of time and brain power, and now a child who can suck the libido right out of a person, temporarily. So please, do not fret about wanting to fuck me all the time. I rather like being a sex object," I said, reaching over to caress his naked face reassuringly.

He gave a little nod of acceptance. "Good, because the ways in which you delight me are uncountable."

I blushed bashfully and he leaned in to kiss me, opened mouthed and wet. I breathed his name and wiggled over to press against him.

Erik threw one lean leg over mine and I could not ignore the bulge hardening against my quadriceps. Soon his fingers found their way to my engorged breasts, skimming over them with a touch so light, you'd think he were fondling delicate Fabergé's eggs.

I slid my hand down the length of his leg and around the curve of his hip to the front of his trousers where his hard-on begged for attention and teased at the outline of his tip with my thumb.

"Gabrielle." My name slipped from Erik's lips, the last syllable an elongated rumble.

"Shhh, quiet now my love," I commanded, fumbling with the trouser buttons and withdrawing his overabundant phallus.

I couched down mouth level with his sex, kissing and licking, dipping it deeply into my moist mouth. I wasn't sure I had the energy for an orgasm, but I saw no reason not to pleasure Erik. With one hand around his balls, I squeezed lightly, rolling them around, then drew one finger between his buttocks circling his tight opening with the tip of my finger nail.

He shivered and the intensity of his breathing increased. I rose up so my breasts brushed against his balls and pinched his nipples hard with my free hand while sucking hard and strong on his cock.

"Mon dieu—" he gasped grabbing a handful of my hair.

Certain his fervent cries would wake our son, I intensified my efforts, grasping the thick base of his cock and pumping in rhythm to my suckling.

Caught up in his desire, I groaned against his cock. Erik thrust his hips against my mouth, arched his back and gifted me with a generous amount of his seed.

"Drink of me, Gabrielle," he begged.

I obliged, swallowing with an appreciative moan.

Finally spent, he panted quietly. I licked the traces of his ardor from his sex, lifted my head, smiled and licked my lips.

"Come here. . ." He pulled me to him, kissing me and diving his tongue into my mouth, tasting.

That was when young Erik awoke from his nap, hungry and crying for my breasts.

"What is it with you DuPuis men?" I said, humorously, eyeing my satiated husband as I rose to tend to our infant son.

"Do you think our carnal display has marred the child?" he asked, somewhat alarmed.

I fought an urge to laugh at Erik's naiveté. "No, darling, but it won't be long before we'll have to carry him from our bed to his and then lock the bedroom door for brief child-free sessions."

Erik furrowed his brow, mulling over what I'd said, watching with rapt interest how expertly I hefted our son from his bassinet and brought him to my breasts, urging him to latch on. Only moments before these same breasts, now the means for a meal, were objects of lust.

As my son suckled, I cooed and talked to him, marveling at how this tiny, vulnerable, precious boy was created by two misfit lovers rescued by time.

I ran a hand through my tangled mane and cast a glance at Erik. He was fixated on the suckling babe at my breast, a look of sad longing in his luminous unmatched eyes.

**OOOOooooOOOO**

The next morning my good friends, Doctor Elizabeth Barrett and Mary Ann, aka George Elliott, arrived at the manor, followed hours later by the dressmaker from Paris who carried with her my long awaited wedding gown. I told Erik I could make the brief jaunt to Paris for my fitting, but he insisted I stay within the safe walls of the manor a while longer. He would pay for the dressmaker to come to us.

With so much claiming my attention, I hadn't the energy to argue with his logic. Paris could wait. During my stay in England, I'd leaned down a bit, as sadness left me with little appetite. Post-partum, I now weighed less than before pregnancy, however my bodily proportions had changed and I seriously doubted I would fit my bulging breasts into the bodice of the long-ago commissioned wedding dress.

The dressmaker left me alone to slip on the unfinished gown. I'd nearly forgotten what it looked like, but there it hung on the back of my dressing room door; foamy and pure white meringue silk with tiny pearls punctuating where the soft drapes gathered on the skirt. The bodice bore a sea of crystals and pearls over silk. Sheer organza draped across the décolletage and down the arms. I was certain hours of laborious sewing had gone into creating the simple, elegant masterpiece.

I cried. Weird how a garment had that sort of power. The power of promises fulfilled.

**- () -**

_**Too fluffy? I hope not, a bit of spice for th daddy. Svp revue,**_

_**-Leesa**_


	97. Ch 97 Little Things

**_My apologies for taking so long with this update. Thank all of you for your patience and your dedication. To the person who flamed me, congratulations, you are my first, while I appreciate constructive criticism, dissing an author based on how you think the story should go is unproductive. Erik and Gabrielle just had a child, they deserve a bit of happiness and as far as Gab's pontifications go, hasn't she always been opinionated and idealistic? Normally I would not bother to recognize a negative review, but this one was submitted unsigned. Okay, I'm done._**

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**Ch 97 Little Things  
**

"People like you make my job appear easy. I am not certain I like that, Monsieur," said Elizabeth Barrett, my doctor friend. We gathered in the garden and waited for Mademoiselle Caruso to serve brunch. Elizabeth was giving Erik a good natured chiding for his latest occupation as an obstetrician.

A puzzled frown pulled at his features. "I beg you pardon, Madame? My child was not waiting for your arrival to be born." He looked to me and made a face as if to say, 'is she daft?'

I sidled up to him and took his hand. "She's joshing you, dear," I whispered, smiling faintly at Elizabeth.

"Is she?" Poker face. "Oh, very well, then."Elizabeth's laughter tinkled like a minute wind chime. "Forgive me, Monsieur DuPuis, It is not my intention to make light of your situation. I am pleased for your success in delivering a robust young lad and in keeping your wife healthy. I should wish for more like you on my staff in London."

"Such flattering accolades, Madame." Erik bowed to the woman who, after weeks of working closely with my husband on the fine points of birthing babies, had become a friend of sorts.

Madame Roux appeared through the open doors of the veranda with young Erik in tow. Outfitted in a long dressing gown of lightweight white cotton edged with soft lace, he looked like a little prince, which is what I had taken to calling him.

"Mother, your son is fresh and clean. Mademoiselle Caruso has given him his morning bath, he is changed and powdered to perfection," she said, handing him to me. His head bobbled and he tried to focus his eyes on the movement of the bright flowers behind me. 

"Seeing your infant son makes me long for another baby . . . almost," said Mary Ann. "The pain isn't pretty. I laugh whenever I think of how many, mostly men, lawmakers and the church, want to ban any medicine or method for dulling the pain of labor. . .'woman's pain is just, repayment for original sin,' they cry. Were the tables turned, I'll bet research and development money would fly from policy maker's checkbooks to every doctor and scientist on the globe." We all had a good laugh reflecting on the possibility of men enduring the rigors of childbirth.

"Your insightful wit is sorely missed at the paper, Gabrielle. Do tell me you'll not abandon your writing now that a happy marriage and motherhood have claimed you?" asked Mary Ann.

"Oh no, I plan to resume my 'career path' in a few months. A domestic goddess I am not. I'd die if I could not write for the cause of women's rights. I count myself fortunate that Erik understands this about me," I replied.

"Then he has no qualms about your working. Many husbands forbid it, you know," added Elizabeth, taking the baby from me for a cuddle.

"Erik? He's already purchased a typewriter for me. He figures if I keep busy with enough useful pursuits, I won't be so inclined to run off to the city dressed in drag again." Both Mary Ann and Elizabeth chuckled at the memory of my escapade with Marie's daughter, Caron. Marie, who'd entered the terrace with a tray of almond shortbreads, cast me a reproachful look and I nearly bit my tongue to keep from laughing.

Confident that all was well with baby and mother, my two professional friends wrapped up their two day visit and returned to London, leaving me to the wedding guest lists and the care of my two Eriks.

OOOOooooOOOO

July twenty-ninth, 1878 floated along the lazy river of summertime in the same fashion as all the others days of the month had, slightly humid and clear, save for some stray wispy clouds, and a hallelujah chorus of katydids singing from the trees.

Nothing terribly extraordinary about it, except that July 29th was my wedding day. The civil ceremony in Le Havre had made the nuptials legal, but today's gathering of friends was an act of proclamation. Erik and I wished to celebrate our journey from the dark cellars of despair into the healing light of hope.

And, I wanted to wear my wedding gown. Beneath the self-reliant, Renaissance woman façade, I was a princess wannabe.

Through the miracle of a crackerjack seamstress, my gown now fit me. The "Gabrielle" roses from our garden would provide my bouquet. And the opulence of our garden, fashioned after one of the Ming Dynasty's palace gardens, would provide the wedding's backdrop.

Champagne and wine would flow, accompanied by a sumptuous feast of caviar, steak tartar, chilled shrimp, leg of lamb, and a medley of fine cheeses, breads, brioche and fresh summer vegetables. The pièce de réistance was the wedding cake, designed by one of the finest pastry chefs in Paris. My one regret was that the Twinkie had yet to be invented, as I thought it would make a swell groom's cake.

Too bad I had none on me when I made the time jump, those little cakes could have the longevity of cockroaches.

Plans for our small soirée unfolded with perfection, and that worried me.

Guests arriving from England, such as Caron, her husband and infant; my friends; and Erik's partner and his wife, were to stay at DuPuis Manor. The rest, coming from Paris: Madame Giry, her daughter Meg, and her new husband; and Nadir, were set to arrive early in the afternoon. Erik had never, ever, entertained so many people in his home and it unnerved him greatly. Throngs of people, even small ones, made him nervous, but it was his idea to host today's celebration.

This morning as we dressed, I gave him one last chance to opt out. "Darling," I said, "it's sweet that you want to please me with a special event to mark our union. I know how uncomfortable these sorts of events make you. Why else would you have holed up in the music room moments after supper last night?" 

"I have an opera to finish," he replied.

I came to stand before him and tugged on the ends of his untied cravat. "Erik, you don't have to endure this pomp today if you don't wish to."

Erik scowled. "There is no need to treat me like a child, Gabrielle. I have endured much more than a handful of acquaintances before." 

"I just hate for my pleasure to cause your discomfort," I said, looping one end of the cravat over the other and tucking them into the neckline of his waistcoat. "There, all set except for your mask. I don't expect you'll want to forgo it in front of everyone."

He made a short nod and looked over my head thoughtfully before addressing me. "Gabrielle, the ceremony today t is not chiefly for your benefit, but mine as well. I find it necessary for me to become master of my most potent fears." Erik spoke somberly, seriously. He clasped his hands with mine, rubbing his thumbs over my palms and peered into my eyes. "Now that I have a son, I want him to grow up in the daylight without fear. For this to happen, I must overcome my own fears of recrimination and humiliation. I have long projected the image of being a strong and volatile man; mere words should no longer wield power over me."

"True," I agreed.

"If you can adapt to and thrive in my nineteenth century world, then the least I can do is honor you and our union with today's celebration." 

"Thank you, Erik, for everything you do and don't do for us," I replied, pushing up on tiptoe for a kiss.

"Now, I'd better get a move on. Mademoiselle Caruso is watching over young Erik and I doubt she'll be of much use to him when it's time to feed. Marie will have breakfast on the table for us and then I have to check over table settings and flowers and ready myself for the ceremony," I said, ticking off my mental list.

"You'd be ready if you wore sack cloth and ashes."

I smiled. "That would make for an itchy gown." "Is not Madame Roux overseeing today's details?"

"Oh, she is, but I want to put the 'Madame DuPuis Stamp of Approval' on things," I said with a wink.

"As you should," he smiled back.

"Come, let's eat."

"I'm not terribly hungry."

"You will be if you don't have something. I'll not have you passing out at the alter," I warned, breaking free from his hands and walking to the table on his side of the bed to pick up his mask.

"Moi? Good heavens, woman, I've suffered far worse circumstances on an empty stomach."

I brought him his mask. "Humor me and have a cup of coffee then."

He adjusted the bit of white leather over his gnarled features, smoothed his hair into place, and took a quick glance in the mirror. "If you insist, Madame."

"I insist," I said, taking up his arm and urging him to join me downstairs.

OOOOooooOOOO

Weddings always have their share of foibles; mine would not be the rare exception.

First, the cake arrived on time and looking fabulous, however, the writing on the top of the bakery box said "White cake w/vanilla butter cream frosting." I inspected the base of the pastry for signs of chocolate and saw none. The baker forgot to alternate layers of white and chocolate cake. Erik's only request in this entire affair was that our wedding cake be at least partially made of his favorite flavor—chocolate. This was not good.

"Damn it, stupid baker. I wish I'd know this before I paid his delivery man," I cursed from the table where the three tiered cake now sat.

"What vexes you so, darling?" Erik asked with concern as he walked in from the hallway.

Thankful my back was to him, I froze and gathered my wits. "Nothing, really. The cake is only three tiers, not the four that I ordered. Do you think there is enough for everyone to enjoy a piece?" I asked, turning to face him.

Erik considered the cake for a moment. "It is quite large, but if you believe our guests appetite for sweets will be excessive, have Mademoiselle Caruso bake something easy, a pie perhaps," he suggested with a shrug.

"Wonderful idea, dear, I'll get right on it," I replied with a tad too much enthusiasm.

He tilted his head to the side and studied me. "Gabrielle, are you all right? You seem slightly disconcerted." 

"Not in the least. I'm fine, wonderful. Do not worry about me one bit," I laughed nervously, moving closer and placing my hand against the lapel of his coat.

"Truthfully?" he said, his eyes slowly scanning my face, giving me that 'don't-lie-to-me' look.

"Absolutely. Now go, wander off and hide somewhere before you are asked to do something by Marie," I warned. He pursed his lips and peered behind him with a wary eye, making sure the officious Madame Roux was no where within earshot.

"If I had known this celebration would create so much strain on you, I would not have agreed to it."

"Erik, I'm not made of spun sugar. I thrive on chaos. Now, go away." I shooed at him with my hands and he threw me an irritated scowl on his way out of the room.

My mind whirled, looking for a solution to the cake problem. I walked into the kitchen where Mademoiselle Caruso was arranging food on large serving plates which would be stored in the cooler until after the ceremony.

"Madame DuPuis," she curtsied. "May I be of service to you?"

"Yes, you can. The baker made an error with the wedding cake and since there is no time to make another one, I need to throw together a chocolate sheet cake, pronto."

She paused in her work and gave me her full attention. "Oui, Madame, a cake can be ready in time for the afternoon's celebration, but we must make haste," she said in her girlish French accent.

"Here's what we'll do. I'll whip up the cake, the one Monsieur DuPuis likes best, and you are to keep a sharp eye on it while it bakes. When it's done, place it on the cooling rack and come find me. I'll be hidden, sitting in the nursery with the baby."

"I can frost the confection for you, Madame," she offered.

"That's okay; I have something special in mind, so I'll do it. You must not tell anyone, especially my husband, what is going on. He is not to be bothered with trivial things like cake today, are we agree?" I asked.

"Agreed, Madame," said the little maid, making a locking motion with her hand.

I threw on an apron and made quick work creating Erik's favorite double chocolate cake, made with the finest French cocoa. The idea was to cut the sheet in the shape of a grand piano, smother the cake in rich vanilla butter cream icing, adorn the edge with tiny blooms and sprinkle the top with finely sifted cocoa. Simple, tasty, and most of all chocolate. I wondered if I were creating the very first 'Groom's cake. 'With the cake safely tucked into the oven under Mademoiselle Caruso's watchful eye, I retreated toward the nursery.

I approached the winding staircase leading to the manor's upper floor, but before my toes hit the first step, Marie Roux was summoning me.

"Gabrielle, I need you! Please, we have a grievous situation which requires your attention." She bustled up to me, out of breath.

"Mon Dieu, Marie, whatever is it?" I feared the worst.

"It is the seating arrangements for dinner," she informed me, wringing her hands.

I stared at her blankly. "Eating arrangements? Everyone here is amiable with one another aren't they, Marie?"

She shook her head. "Gabrielle, you cannot mean to sit the Marquis next to Monsieur Roux. As much respect as I have for my husband, we are of a far lower class; you are certain to offend the Marquis," she said ruefully. Although genders were supposed to be alternated in those days, I preferred spouses sit next to each other as it is what I myself preferred.

I sighed. "Marie, come now, he is married to your niece. Obviously, the man has moved beyond that sort of thing. Where else would you have him sit?" I asked, getting more peeved by the moment.

"Next to the authoress and her husband or the Daroga, perhaps? They are much more worldly and refined.""Egad, Marie, I can't believe you're agonizing about this stuff. At my table, everyone is equal. The Marquis will enjoy Henri's stories."

"But, Gabrielle, it simply—""Marie, stop please," I said, holding out my hand in frustration. Marie stopped short and blinked at me.

"I am not changing anything at this late hour and that is that. Now if you'll excuse me, Erik needs his feeding." Before Marie could rebut, I spun around and headed for the nursery where my son was enjoying a peaceful nap.

Young Erik awoke, hungry, naturally. I cared for his needs, rocked him for a time, and then had a brainstorm. "Hey you, how about an impromptu outing?" I whispered to my sleeping son, placing him in the basket we used when taking him outdoors. It was equipped with a cushy blanket and a piece of netting for keeping the bugs away from his tender skin.

The ceremony was not for another six hours. We had food, cake, flowers, and our finery. What else was needed but for the remaining guests? If they did not make it, I wasn't going to have a cow. This was my wedding day, it would happen and I would enjoy it. I didn't even care if a monsoon erupted from the heavens. 

I assumed Erik had holed up in the sanctuary of his music room. I decided to retreat to my own sanctuary, my own 'Private Idaho,' the large oak tree at the edge of the meadow.

On my way out, I stopped by the kitchen to check on Erik's cake, relived to find Mademoiselle Caruso had it on a rack, cooling.

"If anyone should need me, tell them I'm taking a nap and want no interruptions, none. I don't care if the house is on fire, okay?" I wanted to smile, but decided Mademoiselle Caruso may not take me seriously if I did. Who knew what the girl understood.

"Yes, Madame DuPuis do have a pleasant rest," she nodded with a polite smile. This time I smiled back.

I made my way back through the dining room, stopping at the mouth of the main hall to listen. No voices, good I could slip unnoticed out the side door by the carriageway.

Not a soul in sight. I dashed away from the manor, behind the far side of the carriage house, and stepped into the meadow. Behind a grove of bushes and maple trees, stood an enormous oak tree. Any person resting beneath its considerable canopy would not be visible from the house.

I set the basket down gently and spread out the skirts of my cotton dress to sit. _Ah_, I breathed in the pungent scent of summertime wildflowers, earth and summer wheat. Bees, dragonflies and bits of fluff floated in the air around us and I draped the netting over Erik's basket. 

He formed what I liked to call a smile, flailing his little fists and kicking his feet happily, and tried to focus his newborn eyes on my face.

"Hey, little dude, it's just you and me. Kick back and enjoy it because soon you're going to be passed around like you're a human football by strangers who will cootchie-coo you silly.' I spoke to my son, who answered by sticking out his tongue at me.

"I'm just saying, now. . ." 

I closed my eyes and leaned against the thick tree trunk. The mildness of the day surprised me and I wondered how long it would last before the typical humidity crept in.

_Good thing this wedding takes place just before dusk_. I'd long ago run out of my Secret deodorant stick and I didn't think powder could ward off sweat stains from a silk gown. Excessive heat made Erik cranky, too. _And when Erik's not happy, ain't nobody happy_. I laughed to myself.

I pushed all thoughts of cakes and seating arrangements from my mind, allowing errant thoughts to drift through instead, relaxing my jarred nerves. Before long, I teetered on that delicious, narrow ledge one perches on before falling into sleep.

"So here is where you've run off to, my bride." The depths of Erik's velvet-timbered voice roused me from my daydream.

"Hey there!" I said cheerfully, sitting up right and patting the soft spot of grass next to me.

Erik bent his long frame gracefully to join me beneath our favorite oak tree.

"What, have you also been run off by the wedding Nazi?"

"I assume you refer to Madame Roux. I'd no idea the woman could irritate so," he groused and pursed his lips.

"What if we hid here, beneath this tree all day?" I asked with a giggle.

"What if, indeed Madame," Erik answered. The lush greenery surrounding us enhanced the spark of mischief in his jade eyes.

Young Erik stirred from beneath the netting. I removed him from his basket and kissed his downy head. "What is it, my prince? Hungry again are you?" Much to Erik's delight, I unlaced my bodice, revealing my breasts to the soft summer breeze, and began feeding our son.

"We can bail on our guests, Erik. It'll be fine, I promise." I cast him a reassuring look.

"Gabrielle, I have something I wish to show you. Something I had hoped to save for after the wedding, but well, we've several hours until the celebration begins. Might you be up for a bit of amusement?"

"Will it take my mind off of Marie's incessant mother henning?" 

"I should hope so. When our son finishes his supper, I will show you my fantasy."

**  
- () -**

_**Erik's fantasy? Humm, I can hear the wheels turning now. Please review for me. Thanks Barb and Amy for being my faithful beta's**_

_**-Leesa**_


	98. 98 Erik's Fantasy

_**Bonjour, forgive me for making you wait so long for this chapter. Blame it on a crippled power source in my laptop and lots of work (stupid work …). I missed you. **_

_**-Leesa**_

**98 Erik's fantasy**

"Your _fantasy_, Erik?" What on earth are you talking about?" I asked, staring into my husband's jade eyes with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

"While you've been busy exercising your maternal instincts, I've been tending to another sort of creation."

"What sort of—creation?"

"Your face, Gabrielle, you remind me of a dog who's being offered a bone, but fears she'll be whipped for an unknown bad deed if she accepts it." My wariness seemed to amuse him.

"Oh, I know, I know. When you pull out the 'Mr. Dark and Mysterious' persona on me, I have to wonder what's up," I said, letting him help me to my feet.

"I've nothing sinister up my sleeve—honestly woman," he huffed.

Erik leapt up from the grass and extended his hand to me. "Come, let me show you."

"Show and tell Erik style; oh, how very cloak and dagger."

Erik ignored my quip, entwined the long fingers of his right hand with mine and picked up the baby's basket with his other hand while I placed our son, whose eyes were focusing on a large orange butterfly fluttering about my floral print dress, back in his cozy wicker transport.

Erik looped his arm in mine and steered me down the meadow path toward the manor house.

"I don't want to go back there just yet," I protested.

"We're not, darling."

"Oh—where are we going then?"

"Not far."

"This is not the day to make me crazy, you know," I said with a thinly veiled warning beneath my light demeanor. Erik merely chuckled and walked on. Late morning sunlight splashed across his face enhancing the laugh lines of his eyes and mouth, making him more appealing than ever.

I remained silent as we neared the back of the stable area.

"Here," he said, stopping in front of the old equipment shed on the back side of the old barn.

This was where I'd discovered the entrance to Erik's underground hovel.

I shot him a suspicious sideways glance. "Why are we _here_?" I asked sharply.

"You'll see," he answered, a mysterious smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. Erik stooped next to a kerosene lamp partially concealed by weeds, lit the wick with a match from his pocket, and lifted the lamp by its rusty handle. "Follow me and stay near, the stairs are dark and narrow," he warned, pushing aside the weather-beaten door and stepping inside.

I wondered what demon had possessed my husband to lead me back into the bowels of my personal hell on the day of our marriage celebration. Did he plan to show me a cavernous space swept clear of any trace of his former obsession?

_That must be it, a reassurance, his Parthian shot_ t_o the past,_ I thought, and allowed him to lead me into the tiny shed and down several worn steps to the iron door of Erik's hideaway. The heavy door creaked on rusty hinges when Erik pushed his shoulder against it. Like a gentleman, he held the lamp high so the light illuminated the immediate area before us. I entered in silence my eyes glued to the only image visible in the sparse lamplight—Erik.

Once inside he instructed me to stay put, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing me.

"Like the baby and I want to get caught in cobweb hell," I told him. It's not that cobwebs alarmed me, I simply wasn't fond of having them stuck to my face and hair. Whenever I walked into one, I felt guilty for destroying a lady spider's delicate work.

"There are no spiders here," he snorted softly. "Now, if you would, please, close your eyes and do not open them until I instruct you to do so."

"Yes indeedy, Mr. Mystery-Mysterio," I said, complying with his request. Whatever he'd planned, it had to be good, as I'd learned that Erik's surprises were often grandiose.

He moved inaudibly about the gloaming and I wondered if he'd vanished altogether from the cavern. Most of what I heard was the anxious thumping of my own heart and an occasional sigh from the sleeping babe in the basket.

It was the smell that first hit me. The air was redolent of exotic florals—the heady perfume of jasmine. And I heard … _birds._

After a short pause, the warmth of Erik's sensuous voice billowed through the darkness. "Gabrielle, my love, you may open your eyes."

I gasped. What I saw rivaled my most indulgent daydreams.

The dreary cave that once housed a shrine to the illustrious opera singer now gleamed with the opulence of a lush tropical rainforest. Here were voluptuous palm and banana trees, ferns, plus gardenias and orchids of every variety and color. Brilliantly hued tropical birds twittered amongst the flora. At the far end of the carven, a waterfall bubbled and cascaded over rocks into a small lagoon. Above me, I saw sky, not a true sky, but a near perfect facsimile, painted Caribbean blue.

I don't know how long it took to drink in the grandeur, but when I finally surfaced back into the now, I blinked back tears borne of unnamable emotion and turned to look at my husband. He stood with hands clasped behind his back, the picture of repose, but in his eyes, I saw the boy who wished to please. With a subtle lift of his eyebrows, Erik asked his question.

Our eyes locked. I set down the baby's basket to embrace my husband.

"Erik-_how_?" I stuttered, wide-eyed and astonished.

He cast one arm around my shoulders and made a sweeping gesture with the other. "It is a dream I've had for decades, yet never bothered with. _Why design an island of fantasy for a sad and lonely old beast with no one to share his vision? You would only taunt yourself_, I'd chastise myself. Then I met you and found the good buried within my encrusted heart."

"Sweetheart, that's not totally true," I said, resting my head on his shoulder and stroking his chest with my free hand. Erik's compliments often left me feeling unworthy. I knew his heart longed to revel in the true beauty of the man draped beneath an inky cloak of survival. I waved frantically at my eyes hoping to quell an onslaught of tears from dribbling down my cheeks. I was not a pretty crier.

"It looks so real, Erik is it?"

"As real as you wish for it to be, darling."

I broke from his embrace, moved to a bush, and bent down for a sniff. It was the unmistakable fragrance of Jasmine all right, lush and sensuous. The bush felt like silk and twig, the real deal. Beneath my feel ran a thick, emerald ground cover.

"Okay, I give. How did you construct all of this?" I asked, turning back to Erik and holding out my palms.

He shrugged and picked up the basket holding our son. "Lighting, mirrors and the like. I've designed countless automata and dozens of elaborate sets—my talents have devised many brilliant instruments of depravity. I thought I should see what creations of beauty were within my capabilities.

"Flippin' amazing."

"Come." He reached out to me take my hand and led me over to the lagoon.

"This is so very cool. I can't believe you did all of this right under my nose. And I always thought I was a good reporter. My brain must have turned to baby food in the last few months."

Erik laughed. "Place your hand in the water."

I knelt down, put my right hand on the creek stone border for balance and swept the other hand across the surface of the crystal clear pool.

"It's warm. What is this, some sort of underground spring or did you install a water heater?" I asked, looking up at Erik in the filtered "sunlight."

"Your first guess was correct, my dear. Beneath the land in this area runs a network of hot springs much like those in Vichy. I never saw a use of capturing them until I had the idea for the lagoon. I have designed a place of solitude and fantasy where we can visit without fear of intrusion. He set the basket down took grasped my hands in his and gazed into my eyes.

"Do you like it?"

"Good god, I love it, Erik! It's the stuff of dreams, and way better than a Barbie Dream House."

He looked at me quizzically. "Oh—very good, then."

"Very good."

"Shall we try out the lagoon? I hear that hot mineral water is quite restorative."

I hedged, but for just a moment. I'd been running myself ragged for two weeks in preparation for today's "simple" gathering. The warm water's caressing fingers enticed me.

"Why not? We've got several more hours until the rest of our guests arrive," I said, smiling coyly at Erik. He began undressing with his back to me, laying his garments on a strategically placed ledge where they would stay dry.

I was still unbuttoning my cotton dress when turned his glorious nakedness toward me. "I was going to ask if I could take your clothes, but I see you're still wearing them."

It had been sometime since I had been totally naked in front of my husband. Even during delivery, I was partially covered, and now I felt my old nemesis, insecurity, creeping into my psyche. It had only been six weeks since I'd given birth to our son and I was rather out of shape. I knew Erik wouldn't care, but still, I felt anxious about my new body.

I stepped out of the dress and undergarments and handed them over to Erik's waiting hands. Once they were neatly and stashed on the ledge, Erik slipped his sinewy body the warm water.

I turned quickly, picked up young Erik's basket—he was still sleeping—and walked over to the lagoon's low stone border where I sat down with my arms folded across my lap and dipped my toes in the steaming mineral bath. I could feel Erik's eyes roaming over me.

"What was all that maneuvering about?" he asked

"What maneuvering?"

"Undressing as if you were a shy little virgin. Is it some sort of wedding night ritual?" he laughed and swished the water around him with his arms.

Briefly, I allowed my eyes to dip toward my stomach. "I'm fat."

"Ah, you appear embarrassed, Gabrielle. You are not fat; you only just had a child. Your body will return to normal soon, and if it doesn't, who cares? Your changing shape is a testament of our love—our family Rest the babe's basket on the ledge, he'll be safe there and well within our sight. Come now, Gabrielle, you are not the shy type."

"Ha, normally I'm the antithesis of you, aren't I?"

"What is it you say, 'don't be a dork'? Join me and let us enjoy the fruits of my labor."

"You're right, I'm being silly," I agreed, hanging my head. Suddenly I jumped in, scooped up a hand full of water, and sloshed it the direction of my husband. "But I am not a dork!" LOL!

He scrambled through the water and pulled me into his arms before I had a chance to retreat.

"Careful! I'm a new mother. Don't bruise the merchandise," I pleaded through a veil of giggles.

"I thought you told me you were thoroughly healed," Erik growled, and nipped at my ear.

"I am. I was staving off your retaliation."

"You do know that today marks the third day of the sixth week since our son was born?"

"So?"

"What did you tell me was special about the sixth week preceding our son's birth?"

"Um, let me see . . . besides the wedding celebration, I haven't a clue."

"Why put off until tonight what we've the energy for now?" he continued nuzzling the soft skin behind my ear.

"Oh you mean _sex,_" I said feigning ignorance.

"I want to ravish you until you beg me to cease," Erik nibbled at the slope of my neck while his hands cupped my breasts, awaking the familiar heat of desire inside of me. Preoccupied and tired though I'd been, I wanted—_needed_ to make love to Erik. Soon.

I arched my back and rubbed my behind up against him as I enjoyed his touch.

"Stop that or I'll bend you over and impale you this instant," Erik said gruffly, his hands sliding lower.

"Sorry, dear. I know you've got a hair trigger these days." At the precise moment I turned in his arms for more intimate contact, our son began to cry.

Erik's face took on the appearance of a man wracked with pain. "I assume that my namesake's needs take precedence over mine," he sighed.

"Maybe it's nothing, maybe he'll quite down," I said, hoping.

"Does our son not wish for his parents to ever couple again?"

"Doesn't want to share our affections with another sibling." I smiled and stroked Erik's face.

The infant's soft cries became full throttle "I-want-it-now!" wails.

"I'm sure whatever he needs won't take long. This big guy won't be lonely for long, promise," I reached beneath the water to caress his enormous hard on bobbing in the current.

"I am holding you to your word," Erik grumped as I swished through the warm water to fetch the fussy infant.

It seems the growing boy wanted to eat again. I perched on the stone border with my feet submerged in the lagoon while he nursed. Erik joined us, sitting next to me and stroking his son's tiny head with his finger tips. Thankfully, the feeding didn't take long. Soon the infant was back in his cozy little basket.

"Hungry little bugger, he's growing by the second."

Erik stared at his son nursing at my breasts.

"I wonder Gabrielle—what it is like?"

"What, sweetheart?"

"To nurse."

"Oh, I don't know, my mother didn't do it either, not that I would remember."

"I do. For some cruel reason my exceptional infantile brain chose to capture the memory of her rejection for a lifetime." His voice dropped along with his gaze.

"That truly affected you didn't it?" I remarked, laying a hand on his damp back.

"It was my first rejection."

"Ah," I whispered. I hated it when Erik revisited his pain-filled his past, yet I knew the memories were meshed into the fibers of his being for eternity.

"Kiss me," I said.

His eyebrows arched in a "oh" followed by a sly grin. He leaned in to meet my lips and soon we found ourselves entwined in a fevered embrace.

Erik's mouth replaced his hands on my breasts. He moaned in appreciation as he tongued my nipples. Somewhat swollen from being a human milking machine, I was thankful for his light touch and soft kisses, a pleasant sensation compared to the force of our son's mouth.

An idea occurred to me. "You know Erik; it's not uncommon for a husband to taste his wife's breasts while she's nursing. I wouldn't think it inappropriate should you like to—try it out."

Two jade eyes peered up at me and I smiled my approval.

Already in my arms, I cradled his head in my hands and pressed him to my breast. "Place you mouth firmly over my nipple and suck. Trust me, unless you bite, you won't hurt me," I said in a soothing tone.

Erik did as instructed, suckling tentatively at first then applying more pressure. He emitted a soft sigh and relaxed in my arms as I stroked the thin wet hair on the right side of his head and ran my thumb over the ruddy knots on his face, thinking about the man beneath the distortion, how relaxed he seemed in this moment.

Polite society may have seen the liberties I allowed my husband as shameful, but I did not. I sensed a healing catharsis in this indulgence of Erik's natural curiosity.

_Ah, my dear, damaged genius, there is nothing I would not do for you_ to _bring you peace_. My eyes swept the room taking in the colors of the trees and the birds and the flowers, each amazing image lit by strategically placed lighting; all Erik's brilliant creations. After five minutes, Erik ceased his suckling, kissed my breast and addressed me with his crystalline green eyes.

"So—how was it?" I asked.

"Intriguing, warm as expected, thin and a tad sweet and . . . serene, not at all sexual," he answered.

"That can only be a good thing," I replied.

We sat on the stone edging soaking up the tranquility of the moment.

"I've designed a special bedroom as well. Would you care to see it?" he spoke, breaking our silence.

"Another surprise? Can I stand it?" I joked and flicked his chin dimple with my tongue.

"There are robes in there we can put on against the chill," he remarked, noticing the goose bumps emerging on my arms.

"Well then let's go see this new mystery room." I stood, snatched up the baby's basket and took Erik's hand in mine.

He led me to a spot on the side of the cavern where he reached through a tangle of vines and did something, which caused a door to slide open. I simply shook my head and mumbled something about the Trap-door Lover.

"After you, Madame," he said coolly, stepping aside for my entrance.

I stepped into a room of average size; however, the decor was anything but. A bright and airy room met my gaze. Suddenly I forgot all about being naked.

Erik had copied, as best he could, the page from a "House Beautiful" magazine I'd gotten at the airport gift shop and stuffed into my carry on bag two summers ago. The spartan furniture was a simple, clean style; plain neutral wood with copper accents. He'd painted the walls a clean white, except for the far wall, which was accented a brilliant green. There were vases filled with huge colorful flowers and a couple of whimsical watercolors adorned the area across form an enormous pedestal bed. My heart nearly stopped when I say what He had hung the bed's coppery headboard; it was a family portrait depicting Erik with his face exposed, turned slightly to his left. I stood next to him holding our son. We both smiled at the naked little cherub who appeared to smile back at us. There was the unmistakable glow of peace painted on our faces.

"Breathtaking, Erik," I beamed at him, feeling more pleasure than if I'd finally gotten that pony I'd asked for on that long ago Christmas. "How'd you know—about the room, that is?"

Erik walked over to a round copper table and lifted the home design magazine up for me to see. "I noticed you'd turned back a corner of a page in your periodical, therefore, I assumed you must have taken a fancy to the room's designs. I wanted you to have something from your past life, to remember that you are more than a nineteenth century wife, mother and writer. Your past makes you who you are, Gabrielle; it is what allows you to accept me. I don't wish for you to forget. I only wish I could do more for you." He put the magazine back and came to me. "I know you miss your family terribly; perhaps someday we can add your notes and writings and request the room be sealed off by our children, only to be opened after June, 2006."

"And only by my family. Erik, that's pure genius," I whispered, and draped my arms about his neck. He was too nice to me. In my former life, I stayed away from the "too-nice" boys, the type my parents wanted me to hook up with. They were usually quite creepy. Erik, however, was not born of a time when a romantic man's peers saw him as less of a man. All that macho shit did not apply to Monsieur DuPuis, and god knows Erik was edgy enough to surpass the "too-nice" boy label.

"'Genius', yes; 'too-nice'? I'm certain the jury would beg to differ with you, darling," he remarked with a droll chuckle and kissed the top of my head.

"This is so cool!" I hugged his neck and jumped up and down, making him start a bit before breaking into a wide grin.

"Cool, quite. Consider it a wedding gift from your old cantankerous husband."

"That's my dear, kind cantankerous husband. Oh man, Erik, you're going to make me cry and you know how I hate tearing up. Damn hormones." I swept away tears with the back of my hand and leaned into his embrace.

"My own little slice of 2006. Weird to think that I'll never know what will go beyond that year, as I once would have; of course the way the world was going, maybe that's not a bad thing," I reasoned as I walked through the room, touching objects here and there until I came to the bed. I hopped up on the thick white coverlet and gave Erik my best come hither look. "Now, monsieur DuPuis, what about that ravishing you were about to inflict on my person—"

Erik tilted his head sideways and grinned a wry grin, his cock rising valiantly to the occasion at hand. He then picked up the baby's basket and placed it next to the bed.

In an instant, he was covering me with his warm, muscular nakedness.

"God your skin feels splendid beneath me," he whispered in my ear.

"Ditto," I responded. I hoped we wouldn't miss the ceremony.

- ( ) -

**_In the words of that modern poet, Nelly, "It's getting hot in here so take off all your clothes …" _**

**_Now, please review for me. I crave the attention _**

_**-Leesainthesky**_


	99. 99 Gabrielle, the Avenger

**_Hi lovies. I am sad to be near the end. This chapter could have gone a dozen ways, but I had to finish it before next year. I hope you are well pleased. _**

_**-Leesainthesky**_

**99 Gabrielle, the Avenger**

Erik leered at me, he couldn't help it. A man with his raging passions would not be reined in indefinitely.

On the way to the bed, he paused and moved young Erik's basket from the floor to a nearby sideboard. "There," he said, adjusting the blankets around his son, "I feel safer knowing he is at eye level with us, while we are not so obvious to him."

"The little guy can barely make out shapes, sweetheart. Genius child or not, I doubt he can know what his parents are up to," I reasoned trying not to laugh at Erik's earnest concern. Here was this virile Frenchman, a progressive, nineteenth-century artist and the former Phantom of the Opera, worried that a brief round of lovemaking might offend our infant son. His modesty was both endearing and comic.

"Ah—but of course, my logical wife, the boy is but an infant," he said raking a hand through his hair. Yet he still faced the basket backwards, away from us.

The ferocious gleam returned to his eyes as sauntered to the bed. "You'd best be prepared to pleasure your husband, woman."

"Suppose I don't deliver to your satisfaction, Monsieur? What then?" I purred, batting my eyelashes.

"Then I will insist you indulge me until I am properly satiated."

"Then I'd be wise to apply myself to the deed at hand, wouldn't I."

"Indeed, you would."

Our little passion play continued while Erik mounted the bed and settled at my feet. With knees apart, he devoured my nakedness as I devoured his. I noted how full and low his balls hung, a consequence of abstinence, and appreciated the way his gorgeous sex jutted toward me as if it were a diving rod pointing at a find.

I struck my demure temptress pose. "Please, kind husband, be gentle in your methods, as it's been a while since I've had a good romp. Why, I'm nearly a virgin again," I purred.

"How fortunate for me," he replied, holding me in the spell of his jade eyes, advancing across the landscape of the bed with a sly smile on his lips. "Should you check the drawer on your right, you'll find a tin of French letters and some fine oil."

"Oh?" I chuckled softly and opened the drawer. Yep, there sat a tin of sheepskin sheathes and a shimmering vial of oil that I assumed Erik had concocted himself.

"Monsieur DuPuis, you are the consummate boy scout."

"Pardon moi, what is this 'boy scout' you speak of?" His crinkled brow challenging my odd reference.

"It means that you are prepared for anything."

"Proper planning prevents poor performance … and untimely children," he warned, waggling a finger at me. "Now, if you would, my sweet, allow me to dispense a bit of the oil into the warmer for you."

When I turned to retrieve the oil from the drawer, I noticed a copper diffuser, much like the type used to disperse fragrances, sitting on the table top.

_A man who thinks of my comfort in addition to his own carnal needs?_ _Pinch me,_ I mused silently.

"Oh, I nearly forgot, there is a bottle of orange blossom honey from the pantry as well," he added.

I lifted my brows at him and snorted. "Honey, Erik? What, are we baking something?"

"It is for satiating my sweet tooth."

"Your sweet tooth—that's what you want satiated?"

Erik brandished a roguish half smile, lowered his lashes briefly, then blinked back up at me. His eyes were smoldering slits and the intensity of his gaze was unnerving.

Crawling over me, he uncorked the vial of oil and poured a generous amount of the mixture into the diffuser's well, retrieved a matchbox from the drawer and lit the candle beneath it. Erik had our humble fantasy abode wired with costly new electricity, but a natural flame was still his preferred mode of illumination. Several candles sat near the diffuser, which he lit before clicking off the bedside lamp.

"Now, my delectable bonbon, how would you prefer to be devoured?"

"How about putting that sexy mouth of yours to work?" I suggested with a husky laugh.

Erik reclined next to me and twiddled with a strand of my hair. "What I truly want, is to tuck your legs behind my ears and dive into your velvety tunnel, but I also want to do this—"

He leaned in and kissed me all over; on my eyelids, my nose, my cheeks and my ears; kissing like he wanted to feast on me.

"Soft, delicious little wife," he crooned against my shoulder, giving me a delightful case of the shivers. When my hand dropped to touch his cock, he flinched and nipped me.

"Yikes Erik, did I hurt you?" I asked, rising off the pillows.

"Hardly," he replied, his voice dense with lust. The trail of kisses resumed down the swell of my breast to the tender skin of my lower belly, where Erik's attentions struck a nerve.

"Uhmn," I muttered unintelligibly, wriggling beneath the ecstasy of his mouth.

Erik rose up on his knees and grinned at me wickedly. "If that makes you crazy, then what will _this_ do?" he said, opening the pot of honey, drizzling a thin stream of it over my sex and swirling his tongue around the delicate folds.

"Merde, Erik, I love how you touch me without plowing right in and scaring the hell out of my most personal and exposed little nub. You're a—damn—sexual sorcerer," I uttered between gasps.

He merely shrugged and poured a pool of the sticky nectar into my center, dipping his tongue in and out while lightly stimulating my clit with his fingertip. The sensation was too lovely. In an instant, I had my crotch crushed into his face.

"Oh, like that, do you?" Erik intoned with a self-satisfied chuckle and resumed eating the honey. Eventually I touched his face, urging him to stop.

He looked up at me, grinning broadly, his chin drenched with my juice. "Are you prepared to make a go at our favorite pastime, my love?"

"Momentarily."

"More of this then?" he said with a flick of his tongue.

"Not quite."

"What then?" He was becoming slightly agitated with my cat-and-mouse game. His confusion abated quickly when I ordered him to lay back and decorated his cock with a dollop of honey.

"I wish to dine on my favorite dish; Erik en mile," I said, emitting sounds of pleasure as I went down on him, licking as if he was a gooey "Sugar Daddy" sucker.

"Enough, Gabrielle," he cried, grabbing my wrists.

I peeked up to see his flushed, sweaty face. He wanted desperately to come.

"Let's do it," I whispered.

Erik moved with the energy of a man half his age, retrieving a French letter from the tin. "Allow me, Monsieur," I said offering my hand before he had a chance to adorn himself.

He handed me the sheath and I rolled the circle over his mushroom-shaped tip as I'd done many, many times before, marveling at its considerable girth. Though long and lean in accordance with the rest of Erik's body, it was the head of his penis that gave me that excruciating sensation of pleasure bordering on pain. Simply thinking about the way it rubbed in all the right spots was exquisite torture. I shuddered and prayed that I had healed up enough to stand the friction.

"I should like you to lubricate me with a bit of the warm oil, Gabrielle." He punctuated his request with a sweet kiss to my lips and reached for a tiny pair of tongs for handling the diffuser's heated bowl. With a quick touch to the oil's surface Erik deemed the temperature "perfect."

"Cup your hand, darling," he said, pouring a silver-dollar sized quantity of the oil into my palm.

I played with the slippery, warm liquid, rubbing it between my fingers. "This is nice, Erik, what's in it?"

"Glycerin, a drop of honey, paraffin and a touch of cinnamon; not unlike the ingredients of the intimate elixir you brought with you when you arrived here."

"Oh," was all I said. I'd forgotten how he enjoyed reading the labels of my twenty-first century products. "KY" had nothing on Erik DuPuis. I ignored his blatant admission of snooping and the blush creeping across my cheeks, and slathered the oil up and down his rigid cock.

"You are a kind and thoughtful wife, now—onto your back and spread your legs, if you please."

"Oui, Monsieur," I laughed, relaxing into the brightly colored bed pillows.

I crooked a finger at him. "Come here and ravish me like a proper Frenchman should,before the kid wakes up and wants his nappies changed."

He wrinkled his nose in mock disgust, "Brilliant foreplay, Gabrielle."

I bent my knee and slid my big toe across his length and he sprang on me with masterful felinity. Positioning his hips over mine, he leaned one hand against my leg and held his engorged cock with the other, leading it to the mouth of my sex.

"I shall make my way slowly. Do tell me if I hurt you," he said, his face etched with a mélange of desire and concern.

"Don't worry, it's all good, Erik," I promised. He was the sort of man who would fret about my discomfort to the point flaccidity.

"You hot, sweet, sticky thing," he moaned low when I fingered my lips, parting them for his entrance.

Penetration brought about that splendid feeling of being opened up, of being _taken_. Relieved to feel no discomfort, I sighed and let my body suck him up.

Erik filled me slowly, taking care as though I was constructed from spun sugar.

"Feel good?" I asked.

"Ungodly so," he said through gritted teeth.

"I was afraid it might feel different—not as good as you remembered." I feared that giving birth had changed me on the inside.

"If you felt any better I would implode and cease to exist, Gabrielle."

"Want more?"

"You know I do." His laugh was dark, feral.

I undulated upward against him with slow, circular motions.

Erik stopped cold, momentarily paralyzed with desire. "Gabrielle, darling, please, you must stop immediately, lest I erupt into you like a randy school-boy."

"Sure thing, sweetheart." Normally I wouldn't mind terribly if Erik shot off before me, but today, I too wanted my goodies."

"The convulsions from that hot little tunnel of yours, it threatens to undo me," he gulped, rising up on his hands, breathing so hard a strand of dark brown hair flopped over his right eye.

"Count to ten, Erik and breathe slowly," I advised.

"Make it twenty—at least."

After nearly one minute of closing his eyes and working to slow his fevered pulse, Erik re-entered my pleasure-realm, pumping in and out of me with long, unhurried strokes.

I peered up into his eyes, my body squeezing involuntarily around him. "I want to feel you in my throat," I said, my voice a hungry rasp, and wrapped my ankles around his neck.

"Merde, Gabrielle," he hissed, quickening the pace.

What we held back in verbal expression we made up for in the physical. Glued to Erik, I raised my bottom off of the bed and matched him thrust for thrust, breath for breath.

Sweat from his brow scattered over me when he tossed his head from side to side, grunting and rocking, panting and fucking. And oh, how I loved it.

My powerful, sensual husband, loving me as no other man ever had—ever could. The tension surfaced and grew steadily as we strove together for the sweet rapture of orgasm. When it arrived, I opened my mouth and shut my eyes.

My release broke like a summer tide, languid and rhythmic, washing over me continuously until it ebbed and I lay gasping and satisfied upon Erik's shores.

A new knot of tension swelled within me. Erik was reaching his breaking point. He stared into my eyes and breathed harshly through clenched teeth. What looked like anger was a struggle to keep from crying out and waking the baby.

"_Ma belle putain, me baisent_," he whispered gruffly, his dirty French barely intelligible through quivering lips.

"_Baisez-moi dur_," I commanded.

When Erik came, his entire body quaked from the force. I actually felt the heat and saw the searing blue of his aura.

"Oh, Erik." I dropped my legs, clasping them around his waist, and drew him to me, smoothing back the hair from his face. The loudest sound in the room was that of our beating hearts. The entire encounter had cost us only thirty-five minutes.

"Dear god, how I missed that," he said, rousing from his orgasm-infused stupor to kiss my nose.

I chuckled and tweaked his chin. "Yes, but you survived to come another day, one of many, many more orgasms. Nice mouth by the way," I teased.

"Moi, Madame? Are you not the one who replied in kind with equal vulgarity? Really, Gabrielle, are gentlewomen _supposed_ to want their husbands to 'fuck them harder'?" he said in gruff English.

"Oh, you know you loved it."

"I did."

Erik rose on one elbow. "Well, I suppose we ought to see to our guests. Although, I'd much rather remain here and take you as many times as you can stand."

"I concur, but we'd have an angry mob on our hands if we chose not to surface for the festivities. Our friends want to meet the baby even more than they want to celebrate us, I'm afraid."

"How about it, Gabrielle, can we not fit in one more round—"

A tiny "wha" arose from the corner of the room where young Erik's basket sat.

"Guess who?" I said, rolling Erik off of me so I could tend to our son.

"What is it, baby boy?" I asked the wailing infant. "Ah, you're wet aren't you, sweetie?" I retrieved the spare diaper from the bottom of his basket.

"Erik, please wet a cloth from the basin for me?" I asked.

"Certainly, dear," he said. Rising from the bed, he smoothed back his hair the best he could, and lumbered over to the corner of the room, swished a blue hand towel into the water basin, wrung it out and brought it to me, watching as I changed the boy.

"There, all dry and happy aren't we?" I trilled, drawing the lightweight gown over his tiny body. He rewarded me with a toothless grin and pumped his fists and feet. I handed him over to his father while I went to wash up and re-dress.

When I returned to the bedroom, Erik had on a clean linen shirt and was sitting on the bed playing with our son. The happy laughter of father and son gave be great joy.

"Whoo boy, it smells like sex and candy in here," I said.

Erik cast a glance over his shoulder, winked at me, and resumed entertaining the baby.

I joined the DuPuis men, picking up our little boy in my arms and dancing around the room with him. Erik came to me, sliding his hands around my waist and burying his nose into my hair.

"By now all of our guests should be at the manor and wondering where in the hell we have disappeared to. Though I am fond of my underground creation, we'd best surface or Madame Roux will have the gendarmes looking for us. Besides, I enjoy spending time above ground," he advised.

I cradled the babe in one arm and placed my free hand over Erik's. "My, how far we've both come together these past few years."

"I've become a social gadfly and you a domestic goddess," he declared.

"That's a glaring generalization," I snorted.

Erik became serious. "Darling, do you ever long for your previous life?"

"Where I once felt as if I might die, I now truly _live. _Sure, modern conveniences are great to have, but they pale in comparison to my life with you, Erik. I'm blessed with a man who loves me, treats me with respect and allows me the freedom to be who I am. Plus he's awfully sexy, a fantastic kisser and pens a mean aria," I added.

When he stopped to face me, his eyes were wet; he curled his graceful fingers around the sides of my face and drew me into a deep kiss. We broke only when our son started rooting at my chest. I knew it was more out of habit than hunger.

"DuPuis men," I said, clucking my tongue at him, and tucked him back into his basket.

Erik gazed at his son then looked at me. "Gabrielle, you have taught me how to live. It is because of you that my music not only takes flight but also soars; it is because of you that I can be a true man. You, my love, are my avenging angel, which time has delivered at my feet."

"Literally at your feet," I laughed, recalling the first time I'd heard Erik's rich resonance booming from the darkness of the Paris Opera House's fifth cellar.

We tidied up, blew out the candles, secured the lids on Erik's emulsions and prepared to meet the world above. Erik ushered me out of our fantasy land, bolting the dense metal door behind us, and ascended the wooden steps. I stepped from the musty interior of the supply shed, sneezed and shielded my eyes against the brilliant midday sun.

Erik caught up my free hand in his and walked, drinking in the sublime summer afternoon.

From our vantage point of the stable area, I could make out a small group milling about the garden terrace. The tall, slender woman had to be Mary Ann, and the man with the Astrakhan cap obviously Nadir I spied.

"Madam Giry?" I asked, nodding to an older woman in dark plum, who faintly resembled Marie.

"I believe it is, I don't see her sister about, perhaps you should make a run for it before she pins you down," Erik teased.

"No kidding." When we reached the edge of the estate's vast formal garden, I paused and tugged at his arm. "One more kiss before we greet our guests?"

Erik took the basket from me, setting it gently on the grass, and locked me in a full body embrace, the Saturday matinee kind; a back-bending-hand-in-my-hair-full-on-tonsil-sucking kiss. I staggered when he released me, and swept the back of my hand across my mouth.

"Whew, now _that_ was a righteous kiss," I said breathlessly. Erik laughed and took up my hands in his. "Shall we join our celebration, my _femme futuriste_?"

"Indeed we shall, my sui generis lover." I replied.

"Ah, so you've had your nose in my books, have you?" He said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

I shrugged. "I figured my vocabulary could use some polishing, you know, out with the new, in with the old."

"I see."

Not feeling the need to rush, we ambled along easily on our way to the Manor house.

"You know, Gabrielle," Erik said as he surveyed the landscape around us, "much as I like the solitude of my faux paradise, being cloistered below ground holds little appeal for me, as I've come to relish the light."

- () -

**Translations: Femme futuriste:** Futuristic woman. **Sui ****generis:** One of a kind, phenomenal. **Ma belle putain, me baisent**: Erik being very naughty, (he ain't talking about kissing). **Baisez-moi dur:** Gabrielle wanting Erik to do it to her hard, (and it ain't kissing here either).

**_Please, please review this chapter._**

**_Stay posted for the epilogue of "Time" and maybe a fic about Erik and his POV of meeting Gabrielle—whadda ya think?_**

_**-Leesa.**_


	100. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

**February, 1879...**

Had it really been ten months since Erik and I were joined in marriage—eight since I'd given birth to our son? I shook my head at the stealth of time.

Snow drifted past the library's etched windows and a substantial fire crackled in the hearth. I sat on the floor sifting through mementos from our wedding celebration in the gardens of DuPuis Manor. I'd come to think of the event as "Erik's coming out party".

It really was the perfect day—a winning combination of good friends, fine food and pleasant weather; why, I'd even averted the wedding cake crisis. Erik marveled at the rich chocolate cake Id baked for him in the shape of a baby grand piano. If he suffered any discomfort that day, it was in the small twinge of not knowing how to accept this new feeling, a lightness of being while in the company of others.

"Lovely wasn't it, sweetheart?" I said without looking up from my task. I'd learned long ago to anticipate Erik's cat-like entrances.

"Wonderful, one of my best ever, darling," I heard him reply from the doorway.

I turned to him and smiled. "I'm thankful to Monsieur Mangeot and his new camera. It's awesome having all these photographs of our special day."

"The man's film cost me the labor of another opera, but your happiness was worth the price."

Erik joined me on the floor. Together we reminisced over the photographs: The bride and groom in the garden dressed in their wedding finery; one of a mother and father smiling at their son during his christening, and another of the manor house façade. He picked up a formal photograph of me wearing my beautiful silk wedding gown.

"You looked stunning," he commented.

"I did, didn't I? And ditto, by the way. When I walked down the garden path and there you were in your fine black tails and white silk cravat, I nearly swooned. As the saying goes, 'every girls crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man'."

"I am an abnormally handsome man indeed, am I not?" he snorted, sweeping a hand unconsciously over the right side of his face.

"You are to me. Erik, someday a noted French artist by the name of Anaïs Nin will declare that 'the only abnormality of man is the incapacity to love.' Love is one thing you have a vast capacity for, sweetheart."

"Pah."

"Don't 'pah' me, DuPuis; there is not another man in the universe whose hips I would care to wrap my legs round," I demurred, and leaned forward to meet his gaze. I'll hear no more of your negativity, Monsieur.

"Our son is down for his nap." He studied me, his pirate's eyes smoldering with obvious intent.

Needing to complete my task, I steered his attention back to the photographs. "Oh, look at this one where you're playing the violin. Remember how much fun we all had?"

"I daresay, I do remember how you enjoyed a tad too much champagne."

"I beg your pardon, I did not."

"What was it you asked Nadir for during your waltz? Oh yes, it was 'a dip.' I shall never forget how his eyes pleaded with me. He attributed your caprice to being from another time and culture, but Mademoiselle Caruso, well, I found it necessary to turn from her lest I burst into guffaws. I doubt I've ever seen a more shocked countenance on a girl."

"Don't be so smug, she's always an easy source of amusement. Poor girl, I'll never forget the day she caught in the kitchen. You had me bent over the kitchen table; I believe she thought you meant to draw and quarter me."

"The idea had crossed my mind."

"I was stuck with explaining the facts of life to her. She'd no idea women actually _enjoyed_ doing 'it' with their husbands."

"Did you explain to the girl how it was you who initiated our impromptu encounter?"

"I'm saving that shock for our next 'woman to woman' therapy session. She's a good girl and wonderful with young Erik. Because of her, I was free to dance and party with our guests," I replied.

Erik stared into the fire. "One of our best gifts was the news from Nadir that Signor Vincenzo had left his post at the Lyric Opera and returned to the States."

I nodded. "I know I did the yippee dance. What a huge relief, the dude gave me the willies."

"Peremptory news indeed. Evidently, the man's odd behavior had more to do with flirting and less to do with mystery. The audacity of that stupid yank, why, you were an engaged woman! I should have taught the Lothario an unforgettable lesson when I had the chance," Erik glared, his lips curling into a dangerous sneer.

"He's lurking about another continent now and won't bother me again."

I motioned to the pile of mementos. "Are we really closing in on one year since all this?" I marveled at how quickly time had passed.

"It seems that when you are truly enjoying life, it insists on rushing by to become your past," he answered, caressing the length of my arm affectionately. "So, have you chosen which items you wish to include in the time capsule?"

"Yeah, I have," I exhaled a decisive sigh. It's been difficult. I'd like to keep them all, but then I think 'I want dad and Michael to see, to know what happened to me. The pictures will go along with these," I said, gesturing to a selection on the floor that included my Chicago driver's license, an official copy of our wedding license, our son's birth certificate, one of Erik's scores, autographed by the composer, and a newspaper article with my by-line and signature on it. I figured dad could conduct a forensic analysis on the lot of it for authenticity.

"What do you think, Erik?"

"A thorough selection, darling. Do not forget to include the letter detailing your phenomena," he reminded me gently.

"Got it right here." I waved the parchment for him to see and placed it in a brass box for safekeeping. Erik and I planed to seal the letter with the other mementos for interment in the underground cavern. We would tell our children about their unusual lineage and request they pass along this extraordinary family secret to their most trustworthy and faithful offspring. We mailed a second letter to the Bank of New York for safe keeping in a lock box with strict instructions for the presiding bank manager to contact my father in July 2006.

The rest, as they say, is history.

"It is the best plan we can hope for," Erik said, and closed the lid of the box.

**March, 1881...**

Over the next two years, life at DuPuis Manor steamrolled right along. Erik won a bid for a private project in London and completed his most radical opera to date, "Temps, l'Anveger", earning him accolades as a maverick composer to a new generation of music lovers.

I continued to write and campaign for women's causes, occasionally lecturing at various suffragette gatherings and Dr. Garrett's New Hospital for Women and Children in London when I wasn't tending to my happy little family. We planned an excursion to America and I also gave birth to our second child. Naturally, my husband delivered her. Suddenly I was the number two girl in Erik's life.

The Rouxs, Nadir and Mademoiselle Caruso remained with us at the manor and

Erik even acquiesced to add another pair of hands to assist Henri, a hard working and humorous young man who insisted we call him Napoleon. I took it one step further and deemed him Napoleon _Dynamite_, which he adored and I had to explain to my green-eyed husband.

The chief sadness in our life was the loss of Mary Ann Evans. My friend and mentor, known to the literary world as George Eliot, succumbed to a fatal illness only two years after the death of her longtime love, George Henry Lewes.

Of course, I occasionally grieved the impenetrable void between my father, brother and me. Hell, I even missed my absentee mother. Perhaps if dad had been more available for her and less consumed with his work, she wouldn't have needed to capture his attention by pulling crazy antics. I don't suppose I'll ever know. What I _do_ know is that of all the dreams and plans born of my future past, none compare to the reality of my present life today in the nineteenth century, where I love an extraordinarily beautiful and complex man, the composer, architect, inventor, husband and father who also happens to be the former _Phantom_ _of the Paris Opera_.

_**The end.**_

_**I hope you have enjoyed this tale. It was a pleasurable experience writing it. **_

**_I apologize to those who may feel I have left a loose end or two (author's prerogative). Maybe there will be a sequel!_**

_**Big thanks to Barb and Amy, my betas, for hanging in there with me, their assistance was invaluable.**_

_**Now please let me hear from you one last time with a review, comments, or a simple final shout out. Again, thanks for reading.**_

_**Long live Erik!**_

_**-Leesa**_


	101. Announcement

_**Coming soon ... "La Révélation," a one shot about the discovery of the DuPuis family time capsule.**_

Again, thank you all for the support, insight and reviews for "Time, The Avenger".

Now for a bit of shameless promotion; I've got a cheeky one-liner at erika kire's web site (Gabrina for those of you who don't know erika) that you can go and vote on.

Please vote for me, there will be hot fudge brownies for all if you do. **:D**

Your obedient servant,

_Leesainthesky_


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